


365

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crazy in love Hannibal Lecter, Dark Will Graham, Dom/sub Play, Fluff and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Will Graham, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of child murder and cannibalism, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Sassy Will Graham, Smut, Spanking, kind of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: AU in which Hannibal Lecter is the workaholic heir to an extravagantly wealthy European crime family.  He visits the US and becomes smitten with a young man he chances to see on the beach one day.  Rather than using a more conventional means of courtship, the wildly possessive and thoroughly obsessed Hannibal kidnaps Will Graham and gives his captive one year to fall in love with him.Based on the premise of the movie 365 Days.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 236
Kudos: 627





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal was bored and regretted the loss of such a beautiful day by the sea, wasted away on duty and obligation. Uncle Robertus continued droning on about respecting their business partners as his handsome nephew stood beside him on the boardwalk, strong hands loosely folded on the wooden railing, amber eyes listlessly trailing the shore below.

There was a young man with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes running back and forth through the shallows, chasing several excited dogs. Something about the man made Hannibal keep watching, a rare feat as his interest was notoriously difficult to obtain.

“C’mon!” The man laughed, petting through one of the dogs’ damply furred head and moving further into the water, encouraging the animal to try swimming. 

That laugh was a sparkling, arresting thing, music floating on the sea breeze, mixing with the salt and sun to suggest there was more to life than plodding transactions with loathsome associates to further one’s already ludicrously affluent family fortune. That laugh was magic. It got into Hannibal’s heart somehow, along with the beautiful boy with his contagious grin and angelic features. 

Hannibal’s stern expression faded and he smiled, too, eyes crinkling behind his hundred thousand dollar sunglasses, weight lifting from his touch-deprived soul. 

“What the devil are you smiling at, Hannibal?” Uncle Robertus sneered disapprovingly. He followed his nephew’s gaze to the water and loosed a heavy sigh. “Oh no, not again. Not another of your pretty young things. There is no time to waste on such frivolities when this entire deal is about to slip through our fingers. We didn’t come to America on vacation, and I feel pressed to remind you your _life_ is not a vacation, either.”

Nonsense, as if Hannibal hadn’t dedicated his life to the work, as if he had not sacrificed anything else he might have learned to want for himself. 

The young man stood waist deep in the shining grey-blue waves and watched his dogs swimming on ahead. He clapped for the dog who had been nervous to try. The beginning twinges of warm arousal pooled low in Hannibal’s belly as he stared at the boy’s figure, slender, yet firm and curved in all the right places. His navy blue swimming trunks revealed a strong upper body and smooth, flat stomach, long pretty legs and a pert, gorgeous ass. Hannibal’s mouth was watering by now, palms sweating from more than the heat of the summer day. All a nice boy like that needed was someone to love him, take perfect care of him, pamper him as he deserved. He could almost imagine being the one to make him laugh, or blush and smile, avert those sparkling blue eyes out of overwhelmed bashfulness.

Attraction was generally a fleeting experience which Hannibal indulged in frustrating attempts to assuage the boredom and solitude of the role he had been born to play, the heavy obligation he could never entirely shrug off, even for a few hours’ pleasure and entertainment. He wasn’t used to the feeling rising within him now to an almost disturbing, yet thrilling tumult, that he suddenly couldn’t bear to lose sight of that stunning boy with the magical laugh and sad eyes.

Was the young man lonely, like Hannibal was? Did his appetite roar daily for nourishment he could never find?

“Pay attention and show some respect!” Robertus chided. “What are you going to do about this meeting?”

“I’ve told you,” Hannibal repeated, watching the stranger emerge from the water, slicking back his darling, lovely curls with one hand. Irresistible, untouchable. How, in the face of such beauty, was he expected to rip his eyes free of the vision and force himself back to the miserable topic at hand? 

“I won’t do business with Mason Verger,” Hannibal continued without looking away from his favorite new sight. “He’s a repulsive, vulgar man and you should be ashamed even to consider taking his money.”

“ _I_ should be ashamed?” With his high, dignified cheekbones, golden-tan skin and fondness of exquisite suits, Robertus usually looked quite exactly like an older version of his nephew. But now, it seemed they couldn’t be more dissimilar. “You’ve humiliated us quite enough times with your debauched hobbies and your overindulgences, your ferocious treatment of enemies, and we’ve turned a blind eye when things were going well. Now, if we can’t land the Verger deal, we’re--”

“We’re one of the most feared, vitally successful and unconquerable crime families in the world,” Hannibal insisted, whipping his sunglasses off to stare his uncle down, making full use of the few inches of height he had over the man. “That’s mainly thanks to the changes I’ve made since you increased my responsibility after I came of age. Now for more than twenty years I have protected our interests, kept every wolf at the gate or ripped them to shreds rather than let them damage our prospects--”

“Ripped them to shreds and ate them,” Robertus whispered fiercely, reflecting anger equal to his nephew’s. “You’re unstable, Hannibal, and unpredictable. There’s always been something wrong about you, ever since what happened to your parents and Mi--.”

“Do I shame you, Uncle? Or does my darkness frighten you enough that you think you must insult me to shield yourself from understanding that I am a man of whom you _should_ be afraid? You and your sacred pride, your insatiable greed; you would have us do business with a man who founds children’s camps with the express purpose of terrorizing and abusing underprivileged youths!” Hannibal’s voice was a low, deadly hiss. “The family would be nothing without me and my methods of keeping it secure, and so you have been absolutely right to turn a blind eye to my vices. I suggest you go back to doing that and let me do my job. There are other deals, better deals. I’ll find them.”

“You’ve got a hell of a nerve, pulling the conscience card after what you did to those Cunningham brothers -- disgusting. Don’t you think you’ll be caught, the murders tracked back to you, if you continue making these arrogant, aesthetical displays of their corpses?”

“I know what I’m doing, Uncle. You used to trust me. And considering that the Cunningham brothers were not only despicably unworthy associates, but also serial rapists, I believe my treatment of them was only appropriate.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Uncle Robertus snarled, “So above everyone else, when you know the world we live in, it is the _underworld._ You’re just as much a citizen of hell as those you judge and execute. From now on, at least just put a bullet in their head and be done with it. Mason Verger will arrive at the villa in Tuscany in a week, and you’ll patch up the negotiation. Otherwise, don’t be too surprised if I cut you off faster than you cut the Cunningham boys’ throats.”

“I took my time with that, actually. And I’ve heard that threat from you before, with no follow-through.” Hannibal lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug and turned back to the ocean, only to lose his heart beneath the cold, roiling waves. Morning had drifted into afternoon and the wind had kicked up, tossing the waters briskly while a group of children worked on an ambitious sandcastle.

The young man and his dogs had disappeared, gone off while Hannibal and Robertus argued. 

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you did take it all away from me,” Hannibal mused sharply. “Take the money, all the trappings of luxury, let me start anew. Let me be reborn and make my own way in this world, perhaps finally have an opportunity to discover who I am and what I want.”

“You’re too far into your forties to be speaking like a teenager packing for college.” Robertus shook his head and clucked his tongue, tired out by Hannibal’s restless behavior. “And rest assured, there is no escape from this family. You have responsibilities, and you will see to them, or I will grant you no special mercy, no concessions. Our blood tie won’t make me indulgent with you much longer.”

Hannibal knew his uncle was all talk. He’d adopted Hannibal at the age of eight after his parents and younger sister died under horrific circumstances in Lithuania, and had raised his nephew to be every inch his worthy heir. Losing Hannibal would hurt Robertus more than anything else, for all his hollow threats, and he was likely to do nothing worse than complain, no matter what perceived mistakes Hannibal made in the future.

“It’s a beautiful day, Uncle,” Hannibal resumed breezily, patting Robertus’ arm before he walked away, down the boardwalk towards the clubhouse where he thought he heard the faint sounds of dogs barking. “I hope you get a chance to enjoy it.”

***

“I’m sorry, Mr….” The hostess at the clubhouse said to the gorgeous young man who hovered outside the entrance, leashes looped in one hand, three dripping dogs beside him.

“Graham,” the boy put in, “Will Graham.”

He wasn't technically a boy at all; he looked to be in his early to mid-thirties, but with such a deliciously brilliant, yet innocent aura that Hannibal could not help thinking of him by this term, rather dreamily.

“Mr. Graham,” the hostess continued, inevitably staring a little at the man’s unusually handsome features, his plush lips and the way the salted water dripped from his curls. She flushed slightly and smiled, occasioning Hannibal a sharp twinge of jealousy. Luckily for her, this was as far as she took her momentary admiration, remaining friendly but firm. “I’m sorry, but there are no pets allowed in the clubhouse.”

“Oh, that’s fine, could I just order a sandwich to go?” The boy set a palm on his belly, and from his casually lingering stance in the background, Hannibal imagined that the smell of fried seafood and french fries must be making his stomach rumble.

“You bet,” the hostess chirped, jotting down his request for a tuna melt and waffle fries, which Hannibal found unaccountably endearing, with a somewhat frightening premonition that he could likely find anything sweet and lovely if it was this boy, his _Will_ doing it, thinking it, or saying it.

Hannibal didn’t remain long enough to be noticed, as there was no way to stay so close to Will without watching his every move in a heady thrall. Instead, since he had gotten all he needed from the near-encounter, he returned to his rented Bentley and drove back to the hotel, his heart throbbing with a resplendent new awakening, life returning to his soul because of two simple syllables that had changed everything forever. _Will Graham._ His mind turned over the words fondly as he formed plans, plans interwoven with the sort of wildly intense fantasies that would leave his sheets rumpled and sweat-drenched tonight. _Will Graham. I’ll see you again soon, mylimasis, my destined one._

***

Will never should have agreed to the birthday dinner, but Beverly had been so persistent and her intentions were good. 

“You don’t get out enough,” she said after they finished analyzing the evidence on the latest corpse whose murder they were striving to solve. 

Teaching was dull and fruitless in terms of inspiration, but while he craved the exhilarating satisfaction of enacting justice, his consulting work for the FBI drained him of emotional energy. After putting so much of his considerable empathy into catching killers, engulfing himself in the disturbing world of the criminal mindset and finding he liked it to a discomforting level, Will usually needed to relax in a solitary environment. The dogs were a perfect way to enjoy companionship with no pressure or expectation for him to be normal. He had so much love to give, but he couldn’t imagine another place to share it when he was such a strangely awkward creature.

Therefore, he replied testily, unable to repress a small smile at Beverly’s patient friendly affection, “I get out as much as I can stomach getting out. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I prefer the company of dogs. People aren’t really my thing.”

“When was the last time you bothered going somewhere to give people a chance again?” 

“I went to the beach last week,” Will revealed proudly.

“Mmhmm, did you make any new friends?” Beverly arched a brow.

“I...taught Winston how to swim,” Will laughed. “I don’t think he’d ever been to the ocean before. It was so funny, Buster wouldn’t stop barking for him to go in deeper, and...I guess you had to be there.”

“It sounds hilarious, and I’m glad you had fun.” She shrugged. “If being alone on some fishing trip on your birthday is what you really want, I won’t say anything else about it. I just wanted to offer to take you to dinner with the team, just you, me, Price and Zeller, if you _did_ want to do something a little more special. We do it for all our birthdays and it’s a blast. Ever been to Lizzie’s downtown? The seafood is _amaaazing_ …and they have spicy watermelon margaritas.”

“Well, how could I resist that?” Will chuckled, closing his laptop and rubbing his eyes under his glasses. His tired heart warmed to Beverly’s offered friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, after all, for him to try to _socialize_ \-- his brain still cringed at the awful word -- a little more. Just a little. On occasion.

***

_Why don’t I just listen to my instincts when they tell me not to do things like this?_

Will forced his twentieth weak smile of the evening as he toasted spicy watermelon margaritas with his work acquaintances over baskets of calamari rings and nachos. 

It was too loud here, too bright, and while he could easily tolerate the usual, quirky-charming prattle flowing between Price, Zeller and Katz, everything else about this environment made him feel like he was breaking out in hives.

The loathsome Top 40’s hits blared over the sound system so that you had to practically shout to be heard, and there were far too many _couples_ at the surrounding tables, doing _couple things_ that made him want to scream rather than endure looking for another moment. They were kissing each other’s cheeks or holding hands across the table, worst of all gazing, besotted, into each others’ eyes. As if life was so easy and nice and good because they had each other and five dollar pitchers of margaritas, Taylor Swift singing about _"that James Dean daydream look in your eyes"_ and a brownie a la mode to look forward to later.

Will refused to believe he found couples so unpleasant to look at because he wished he was in one. How ridiculous; he wasn’t _that_ lonely surely -- okay so, he hadn’t felt a touch other than his own hand in too many months to count, and sure, when he was younger, he used to dream about falling in love and belonging to someone, but those were silly, childish concepts, drenched in Disney cliches. He was mature enough to know now that that sort of love only existed for normal people, who knew how to find each other and communicate simply through their mysteriously effective "normal people" behavior. Still, despite his carefully accrued wisdom, Will let out a wistful sigh.

“I’m gonna find the men’s room,” he lied as his dinner companions nodded, then continued talking up a storm. They hadn’t excluded him at all; had tried to loop him into every joke or absurd anecdote of their work stories and excited accounts of hobbies, but Will couldn’t connect. That was the problem, he could never seem to _connect._

Now he just wanted to get away for a few minutes, go outside and get some fresh air away from the synth and tequila and goddamned annoying canoodling.

Will started walking distractedly down the sidewalk, past the other crowded restaurants and bars, appreciating the refreshing breeze on his face, the way the humidity of the day had faded into a warm but not cloying evening.

He must have been really distracted, because he walked smack into another man who rounded a corner towards him seemingly out of nowhere. That was weird, since only one look at this guy told Will he was far too methodical and confident to take a wrong step or exhibit clumsiness of any kind.

They stepped back from each other and Will’s eyes caught on the other man’s, noticing the balmy, sultry set of golden amber. Next, he noticed the subtle ghost of a smile ever so slightly turning up the corners of full, pretty lips and flashing sharp white fangs. The man was a couple of inches taller than Will but seemed somehow to tower over him with an effortless demeanor of power and sensuality. He had sculpted cheekbones and thick, luscious light brown hair strewn with silver that glistened in the moonlight.

“Are you lost, lovely boy?” The stranger smoldered at Will, shoulders seeming improbably broad, his whole body somehow imposing a mysterious, heady sense of barely reined in aggression.

Will shivered and shook his head, feeling bizarre, unsettled and shaken. He turned and walked back to the restaurant, waiting until he passed a few more storefronts before looking over his shoulder to find that the stranger and his heavy, nearly inescapable gaze had disappeared.

After that, Will returned with a fresh sense of gratitude to the table where a new pitcher of slushy magenta drinks beckoned to numb him from the fleeting, but deeply uncomfortable encounter. However, even after three of the icy, liquor-heavy concoctions, the effect didn’t sweep the memory away; if anything, getting slightly tipsy seemed to reduce his mental inhibitions and invite the thoughts in deeper.

He didn’t even mind when he was presented with a brownie a la mode with a single candle in it and the whole restaurant sang an off-key, crowing rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” Normally, this would have him turning beet red in the face and looking for a place to hide. Instead, he found himself phasing away from his environment, back inside himself where the memory of the strange man lingered. He couldn’t understand why he felt so disturbed or why he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

***

After he got back home and tended to the dogs, Will flopped into bed and fell into an immediate, profound slumber. 

He woke sluggishly the following morning, wondering why it was so quiet when usually Buster and Zoe would leap up on the sides of the bed, encouraging him to get up and give them breakfast so they could play outside. A glance at the alarm clock made him jolt upright, so shocked it was like he’d just been doused in ice water. 

There was a clock on the table, but it was an old-fashioned one with delicate golden hands shifting slowly under glass, and it wasn’t his table. This wasn’t his room. He was in an elaborate, king-sized canopy bed in a luxurious room where everything seemed to be covered in lush, blood-red velvet.

He found his glasses on the table and snatched them up, rushing to the window and yanking it open, leaning out to see all he could. He was on the second floor of a house which looked to be an antique mansion, grey stone and dark green shutters, with an immense garden replete with fancy topiary. He took a deep breath to try and steady his nerves as the trauma of realizing he’d been kidnapped set into his bones, battling immediately to find space among all the other anxieties already living within him.

The air smelled of jasmine and it was cooler than at home. In the distance, beyond the golden gates on the other side of the garden, he could see seemingly endless rolling green hills, the sort of unspoiled rural beauty one could no longer find in the U.S.

Where the _fuck_ was he?

Head spinning, mouth perilously dry, Will scrambled from the room, relieved to find the door unlocked. He entered a ponderous library and stood staring at a huge oil painting, he thought perhaps a Van Gogh, and it looked like an original. Everything he saw or felt was overblown and saturated in color and shock; he couldn’t acclimate to the here and now beyond unequaled astonishment.

“Are you lost, lovely boy?”

Will pivoted and almost toppled over; his limbs felt heavy, no doubt from the remnants of whatever drug had been used to render him unconscious and easy to move.

He was face to face with the stranger from outside the restaurant. Wearing a perfectly tailored three piece suit, the man could have passed for the textbook example of dignified sanity, if it weren’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes, the menacing set of his smile.

“Who the hell are you?” Will demanded, heart pounding at a terrifying speed. “Where am I?”


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Want me to love you in moderation  
Do I look moderate to you?_”  
-Florence and the Machine

“ _I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not in my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong._ ”  
-Jane Austen

The image of his captor blurred before him as Will’s legs gave way and he collapsed with a groan, right into the other man’s arms.

“It seems you’ve had a bad reaction to the sedative,” said the man in a thick, exotic accent. He eased Will into a chair with surprising tenderness, handling him as if he was unfathomably precious. 

Will blinked, his vision coming back into focus through his own stubborn determination more than anything else. He saw the man dip his fingers into a glass on the table nearby, retrieving a round, partially melted ice cube from what looked like brandy.

Crouching in front of Will, the man placed the ice cube between Will’s lips and nudged it in slightly. “This might take the edge off.” He was so attentive, nothing like Will imagined a kidnapper would be, and this eerie fact made the situation even scarier.

Helpless, Will took the ice into his mouth, finding that it did soothe the wooziness threatening to sink him back to unconsciousness. 

His captor gazed at him in some kind of unaccountable, transfixed wonderment, tracing Will’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine. “There now. Suck on it, you’ll feel much better soon.”

Will’s fear finally crystallized into hard, fierce anger and he spat the ice in the man’s face, glaring at him. “You suck on it!”

The stranger took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted at his wet face. “I can understand you have questions.”

“ _Questions_? Sure, let’s start with what I just asked you,” Will fumed. “Just who the hell are you, where am I, and what the fuck is going on?”

“Please don’t agitate yourself; I’m more than happy to explain.” The man walked through the room with a look of composure thinly covering what seemed to be nearly uncontainable excitement, which only served to increase Will’s fury. 

It was as if they were long lost friends finally reunited and Will just somehow didn’t remember him, or Will was a much-loved child who was acting out and simply needed to be put in his place with a nice, reasonable lecture. Wasn’t it ultimately so delightful, to be together here like this? 

Will was going to smack that conceited, know-it-all smile right off his absurdly handsome face, as soon as he could get his exhausted body to comply with his thought process.

Trailing his fingers over the back of a buttery leather armchair across from Will, the man continued, “My name is Hannibal Lecter, and you are at my family’s villa in Tuscany. I’ve brought you here because I saw you by chance when visiting America recently, and the sight of you has lingered in my heart and mind with shocking persistence. I realized I couldn’t bear to be without you, and you must trust me when I tell you, there has never been anything, nor anyone I couldn’t live without.”

“I don’t understand,” Will sighed, aggravated. “Are you saying you’re in love with me or something?”

Hannibal smiled again, “Or something.”

“And you’ve gone to all this trouble to kidnap me and hold me prisoner in your creepy mansion of evil, what, because you think you need me that desperately?”

“It’s an entirely new emotion for me,” Hannibal admitted, “But yes, I need you.”

Will stared at him aghast for several moments and then burst into uproarious laughter. Hannibal looked mildly startled.

“Oh, you’ve made a huge mistake,” Will laughed, “You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Whyever do you think so?” Hannibal paused in front of him, hands neatly tucked in his trouser pockets, curiosity etched on his face.

“Because I’m a disaster! I’m not anyone’s irresistible, fascinating soulmate or whatever; I’m a broken, half-crazy, perpetually exhausted pile of flannel, and somewhere in here there’s what’s left of a man, too confused to function most days beyond going through the motions.”

Glancing down at himself, Will belatedly realized that instead of his usual flannel and jeans, or the t-shirt and boxers he’d gone to sleep in at home, he was decked out in a black silk robe which left his chest almost entirely exposed, and underneath, whatever the fabric currently resting against his nether regions felt similarly smooth, cool, and frankly amazing.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bathe you or change your clothing; I left that to the maid,” Hannibal explained as if reading Will’s mind. “Olga used to be my nanny, and I can assure you she carried out the process with only a maternal attitude. Now please, continue your tirade.”

So fucking _calm_ , how dare he? 

Will scowled and added, “I most often smell like dogs, motor oil, cheap aftershave and fish. My hair is an untamable mess, I’m somewhere on the spectrum between Asperger's, autism, empathy malfunction and complete asshole. And in case you hadn’t noticed, my ears stick out.”

Hannibal sank to his knees before Will again and cupped his face, gently roving his thumb over one cheek, then Will’s stubbled jaw and back again, a massaging, rhythmic touch so hauntingly _good_ , so close to the way Will secretly loved to be touched and how no one had touched him that he melted into it for a few absolutely confounding moments. 

“For someone who claims to have trouble functioning, you’ve closed more murder cases than any other agent in the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit.” Hannibal’s voice was low and throaty, spiked with palpable longing. “You’re utterly brilliant, and brave besides. You currently smell only of your natural aroma, entirely beguiling, although I can introduce you to a finer aftershave if you like. I find your hobbies, such as your love for dogs and fishing, charming. The motor repairing habit is easily linked back to your childhood, as that was your father’s profession, and taking it up yourself must help you feel close to him. That’s very endearing.”

“S-stop touching me already,” Will said, watching Hannibal’s throat bob as he pulled back and nodded, but stayed in front of him, close enough that Will could feel the warmth of his breath tickling his skin, could breathe in brandy and spicy cologne until he was dizzy, this time not from the after-effects of the sedative.

“Your ears are beautiful,” Hannibal sighed, big brown eyes gleaming with admiration. “Your hair is beautiful. You are gorgeous from head to toe and it’s consuming me. Everything about you has me bewitched, and I love you to frightening excess.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m an FBI agent?” Will snapped, pushing away any and all emotion that tried to spark in response to Hannibal’s obviously insane profession of love. 

“In fact, it should, especially as I’m the head of a criminal enterprise spanning continents.” Hannibal chortled, “Just imagine, in another life, you might have been assigned to investigate my activities.”

“And what kinds of activities are those?” Will asked coldly.

Hannibal looked slightly drained by Will’s attitude, but he went on to explain, “My family has fingers in any number of wildly lucrative pies, from weapons sales to drugs. Of course, we own many above-board businesses, hotels and companies. I confess that the business itself has never been of any particular interest to me, although I do enjoy other aspects of the lifestyle. We enjoy a remarkable level of luxury and want for nothing. I have, on occasion, an outlet for my violent tendencies which other professions would surely deny me.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Will found he was strong enough now to stand, to cross his arms, wishing he had a normal outfit on as he was never really going to pass for a badass FBI agent in this get-up. “It doesn’t, and neither do you.”

“Of course not. We’re just alike, you and I. I’ve spent the nights since I first saw you poring over every bit of information I could find about you.”

“Tattlecrime.com, I bet,” Will scoffed. “Opportunistic, vulgar, exaggerating, ludicrous excuse for journalism. Freddie Lounds’ writing is _trash_.”

“It’s insightful, informative trash, even if I agree her attitude towards you is derogatory and overly judgemental. Would you like me to kill her for you, my darling?”

“Of course I don’t fucking want you to kill anyone for me, you psychopath!”

“An outdated term.” Hannibal pursed his lips. “And it was just an offer, Will. After perusing Ms. Lounds’ account of your most recent adventures, I concluded that you share my taste for the beautifully grotesque, the exquisite satisfaction of holding a life in one’s hands only to squeeze hard enough to break and bleed away that living essence. It made me even more certain that we are destined for one another.”

“Yeah? Well how about this?” Will asked, gathering all his strength and then shoving Hannibal’s shoulder hard. “No. Let me the fuck out of here, _now!_ ”

“Don’t do that, Will,” Hannibal warned, taking a step back.

“Why, you’re afraid you’ll hurt me? Bring it on, show me the real you, I know he isn’t this simpering, besotted sap you’re pretending to be in some misguided attempt to seduce me. Show me the monster, Hannibal.” Will smirked, eyes dark with hate as he reeled back, planning to punch Hannibal in the face.

“That’s enough,” Hannibal hissed, seizing his fist and easily felling him with a series of motions so fast that Will didn’t even fully register the jabs until he was back in the chair with Hannibal tight on top of his chest, staring daggers into his eyes. His voice rumbled with poisonous wrath, immense desire. “I’ll try very hard to treat you with care, Will, but understand this. I am a very powerful man, and I’m not used to tolerating disobedience. If you provoke me, I can’t be gentle. So don’t provoke me, unless this sort of result is what you like.”

“Get off of me,” Will roared, pushing Hannibal away and breathing heavily, face flushed with the resonating sensation of Hannibal’s weight and body heat holding him down. “I don’t like anything about you, and I never will.”

“You don’t know me yet,” Hannibal replied more calmly, still breathing hard as well. A lock of his neatly styled hair had fallen across his brow, and his cheeks were pink with exertion.

“No, you’re right, I don’t. And you don’t know me, yet you claim to love me, even when you’re treating me with nothing but disrespect for my life and my wishes.”

Hannibal retrieved Will’s glasses from the floor and handed them over. “I want to make you happy. I want you to let me show you how to allow yourself to be happy.”

“Stop _saying_ shit like that,” Will groaned, “you can’t act as though you know me better than I know myself.”

“I’ll give you time,” Hannibal conceded, straightening out his slightly disheveled jacket. “You’ll have a year to see if you can fall in love with me, not to fulfill my desire, but because you want me for yourself. Because you need me, too.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “I’m not staying here for a _year_ \-- I’m not staying here for five more minutes, you selfish, sadistic jackass.” He stormed out of the room and downstairs, getting as far as the front door before he was halted by the sort of gun-toting mercenary security detail you saw in particularly bad action movies. 

“I’m sorry, Will, but I just didn’t have time for more conventional methods of courtship.” Hannibal sighed as if genuinely penitent as he came downstairs at a much more elegant pace. “That will be all for now, Marcus.” 

The guard nodded and slipped outside, probably to monitor the perimeter and prevent any of Will’s subsequent escape attempts, along with however many other grunts Hannibal had assigned to this task.

“You really left no cliche out of this thing, did you?” Will sulked. “Are you planning to keep me trapped inside for 365 days?”

“Marcus was merely making a point for me just now. If you promise to behave, you will be more than welcome to wander the grounds as you please. It’s a beautiful estate, built in 1651. I’ve a special fondness for the Renaissance era. I only wish I was here for more enjoyable reasons, but to have you with me makes even the most deplorable business tolerable.”

“You’re here on business?”

“We’ll be joined by one of my uncle’s associates in a few days, and I’m expected to broker a new deal to continue our transactions smoothly. However, much to my Uncle Robertus’ chagrin, I can be notoriously unpredictable in such matters, especially when I regard the associate with complete disgust.”

“I wonder who could be out there enough to earn _your_ disgust,” Will snipped. “Must be a real piece of work.”

“I understand I must seem a ruthless savage to you now. But I assure you, there are certain acts which I not only fail to condone, but which drive me to enact justice, an urge you surely understand. In my line of work, I encounter matters of human trafficking, rape and child abuse at a disturbingly frequent rate which never fails to enrage me. My uncle is testing me by sending someone here, knowing I want him dead. The test is to see if I will put our profit first, as my uncle insists I must. Or if I will rebel, and face consequences.”

“Are you testing me?” Will asked, coming closer as Hannibal’s breath caught at his proximity. 

“No, Will. I’m sorry I couldn’t ask you to be mine in a more socially acceptable way that might set you at ease. But I’m obligated to travel a great deal this summer for work, and I need you by my side. I feel strong, invigorated, and ready for anything now that you are here.”

“If you’d just come up to me and asked me out like a sane, normal person, and I said no, what then?” Will asked hotly.

“You wouldn’t have said no,” Hannibal smiled.

“What makes you say that?”

“That look in your eyes just now, beloved.”

Will’s cheeks flamed. “You’re deranged. You see what you want to see. And this time next year, when my birthday comes and I still don’t want you, what will you do?”

“I hope,” Hannibal said with a shaky breath, “I’ll set you free.”

“You might kill me, though,” Will guessed.

“I might. I may not be able to bear your absence from my life by any other means but my own hands. Yet I sincerely hope it won’t come to that.”

“At least you’re honest,” Will said darkly, throwing his hands up in defeat. There was no point trying to reason with this madman; he’d have to rely on his own cunning to find a way out of here, _soon._

***

Will went back upstairs, pleasantly surprised to find he was unpursued this time. Shutting the door and locking it as loudly as possible, he sat down on the bed and tightened his hands into fists, eyes flooded with panicked tears at his predicament.

His fear and anger were all mixed up with a repressed, invasive sensation prickling all over his skin, whispering in his heart of hearts that he reciprocated Hannibal’s attraction, that he was somehow drawn to the man. Could Stockholm Syndrome kick in this fast? All the more reason why he needed to get the hell away from this place, away from _Hannibal_ , before he fell victim to any masochistic delusions of romance.

Maybe it was all that flattery, Will mused as he roamed his designated chambers, trying to stay busy to keep calm, swiping his wet cheeks. He rifled through the wardrobe to find another three of the ridiculous silk robes, creamy white, hazy grey blue, and jade green, cut above the knees as if to show off his legs. Who wouldn’t warm slightly under the glow of such obsessive admiration? Will was lonely and touch-deprived, and on his best days he knew he wasn’t all that mentally stable. It made sense he might lose himself with the right amount of attention on certain pressure points.

Or perhaps it was the feeling of Hannibal touching him, even throwing him around and subduing him without breaking a sweat, and the way this treatment felt just as loving as the sweet caresses from earlier. As if it was all for Will’s own good if he would just give in and make this easy.

But Will wasn’t that fucking easy, dammit.

There were several suits in colors he would never normally have the nerve to wear, striking shades of maroon and royal blue. More clothes in the bureau, everything down to the t-shirts, socks and underwear in expensive brands, the sorts of things he considered a waste of money, Gucci, Dior, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana, Fendi, it was outrageous. Why would anyone throw this much money away to spoil someone like _Will_? Hannibal was completely out of his mind, that much was obvious with every new discovery.

Anyway, he never went places where you wore clothes like this, custom details and tailoring and finery, soft fabric pressing to his skin in a seductive embrace. In his everyday life, Will was up to his knees in river water, or elbows in motor grease, jumped on by a bunch of drooling, happy--

Dogs! The dogs! Will let out a loud cry of woe in realizing that he’d been so overwhelmed with trying to understand what had happened to him that he hadn’t fully considered the details of the life he’d been stolen from. 

He ran through the house until he found Hannibal in the kitchen, ivory sleeves pushed up to his elbows, apron tied round his waist as he stirred a pot of something on the stove that smelled of basil, oregano and citrus, purely delicious. 

“Where are my dogs?” Will demanded.

“I had my people send texts from your phone to your friends, Beverly and Alana, letting them know you were leaving on a vacation and asking them to please look after your dogs while you are away. They will be fine.”

“A vacation?” Will laughed harshly. “You might as well tell them outright you were kidnapping me. No one’s gonna believe I up and left on some random holiday. I haven’t relaxed in years; I am notoriously _unrelaxed_ , okay?”

“It’s not okay,” Hannibal tsked, leaving the food -- probably sauce -- on the stove to simmer as he took a large plate with a lump of bread dough out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. “Your friends expressed happiness in their reply texts, pleased to hear you are finally taking a break. And I plan to make it one of the foremost goals of my life to have you thoroughly relaxed, feeling endlessly loved and cared for every day, all night long.”

“That sucks for you, then.” Will ran a hand through his curls and paced the kitchen anxiously, all too aware of Hannibal’s eyes following him eagerly, which meant he really should have changed out of this stupid little robe and put some real clothes on. “I miss my dogs,” he sighed, “I can’t go a year without my dogs. I want to go back to my _life_!”

Hannibal spoke again with that insufferable presumption of common sense: “This is your life now, Will. You would do best to acclimate, rather than keep fighting a situation from which there is no alternative.”

His stern expression softened slightly as Will glowered. 

“Would you pass me the flour, please?” Hannibal asked in an ill-advised attempt to change the subject, probably cultivate domesticity between them. Fat fucking chance.

Will grabbed the bag of flour from the counter and ripped it open, then poured the contents all over Hannibal. White dust cascaded all everywhere, caking Hannibal’s regal face and sticking in his hair, ruining his perfect, expensive outfit and shoes.

Hannibal coughed and blinked in momentary surprise as Will crumpled the bag and tossed it to the floor. He glared through the white fog between them as Hannibal’s expression shifted to consternation.

“I told you not to provoke me, Will,” he said.

“Oh,” Will answered as he left the room in a huff, “I’m just getting started.”


	3. Chapter 3

The tub in Will’s private bathroom was _amazing_ , and it was hard to mind having the most soothing soak of his life in frothy water warm with eucalyptus and lavender, but he tried his best. Letting his body float just below the water’s surface, Will stared up at the sparkling chandelier, listening to the quiet sounds of the house, a distant tinkling of piano keys and servants bustling about on their daily chores. He could almost float far enough away from reality to pretend he really was on vacation, but that was too dangerous a whim to indulge.

Instead, he used the time to plot. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he was absolutely, unbearably awful to Hannibal, the man would tire of him and set him free. He would realize, as anyone would eventually, that Will was a lot more trouble than he was worth.

Of course, this plan came with the risk of Hannibal simply snapping at some point and killing him, but Will figured he stood a decent shot in a fair fight, without being strung out on sedatives. Otherwise, what were his options? Try to run away and get shot by one of the guards as he cleared the garden fence? Hannibal would love nothing more than to nurse him back to health, and he wouldn’t give him _that_ satisfaction.

A knock at the door made him wince in automatic dread, but Hannibal didn’t come in. It was a mere gesture, the way Will kept locking the door to his suite when obviously the owner had keys, yet a necessary reminder that he was absolutely off limits.

“Dinner will be served in a half hour, as our guest has settled in comfortably,” came Hannibal’s voice, cool and firm. “Don’t be late, Will.”

Will smirked and sank beneath the bubbles.

***

Will chose the maroon suit, paired with a white shirt he didn’t bother to button up completely, leaving his neck and upper chest on bold display. He startled himself a bit when he caught sight of his own reflection in the large mirror across from the bed. Instead of his usual, casual attire, the wine-hued vest accentuated his waist while the skinny-fit trousers made him look downright sleek. The suit completed the impression that he was elegant, sophisticated, a dashing young conman perhaps, and a fitting addition to this household. Another member of the crime family, one who lived conscience-free, cobalt eyes rich with the mood of sinful luxury.

Examining his reflection from several angles, Will adjusted his shirt cuffs so that they hung loosely from the sleeves of his jacket, then ruffled his hair so it was artfully tousled. There. He looked sarcastically seductive and absolutely underdressed for dinner; it was sure to piss Hannibal off. He could hardly wait to get downstairs, and it felt, again, a little too much like he was having fun.

Will was confident he had banked away enough details of Hannibal’s preferences in life to know how to push his buttons. Since his arrival, he’d been forced to share three meals a day with the man, meals Hannibal prepared himself since, as he explained, he was extraordinarily picky about what he put in his body. It seemed an annoyingly cute, reductive way to describe Hannibal’s motivation in not hiring a chef but giving over so much of his own time to creating elaborate, glorious meals all obviously designed to impress Will. 

Hannibal pulled out all the stops, presenting melt-in-your-mouth delicacies, only for Will to consume exactly enough food to keep himself from starving, then walk away without even waiting for dessert to be served. 

Hannibal was clearly disappointed, but didn’t seem to mind beyond that, as long as Will dressed formally, kept a napkin in his lap and used the correct utensils for each course. Maybe just having Will there with him was enough to appease Hannibal for now; probably the man thought he could wear Will down over time, since they had plenty of that ahead of them. But he was wrong: Will had no intention of allowing either of them to sink into complacency.

Dinner was outside by the pool tonight, on a long table covered with huge platters of gorgeous fruit and the best-looking cheeseboard Will had ever seen. There were two immense candelabras, red wax smoldering under bright points of light, wine glass and silverware neatly waiting at Will’s seat.

Hannibal and his dinner guest, Mason something-or-other, had already finished the first course, because Will had taken his sweet time in arriving, and he was at least a half hour late.

“This must be the famous Mr. Graham,” Mason said with a smile that immediately seemed mocking, not only of Will, but Hannibal, too. “Hannibal here’s been talking you up so much you must have been blushing. Mason Verger, pleased as punch.”

He stretched a hand out to shake Will’s, who wiped it off on his jacket afterwards, finding the man’s grip gross and clammy.

“So glad you finally decided to join us, my dear,” Hannibal intoned. There was an implicit warning in his voice, despite his pleasant smile, and Will had every intention of defying it to his own great satisfaction.

“Yeah, well.” Will shrugged, pouring himself a ridiculously generous amount of wine so that it nearly spilled out of the glass. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed, flitting between Will’s devil-may-care attire and bad table manners. “Cheers.”

Will glugged down half the wine all at once, then licked his lips and started making himself a tall stack of cheese and crackers. 

“So Hannibal kidnapped me,” Will explained casually, seeing if he could get an olive to balance on top of the cracker tower he’d created as Hannibal glared at him, steam practically pouring from his ears. “He’s keeping me prisoner here against my wishes. Thought I’d mention it, in case you’d care to help me.”

“Kidnapped him, hey?” Mason arched a brow and glanced at Hannibal, who managed to shift his features into a cordial smile that was thoroughly fake. Between his hatred for Mason and irritation with Will’s behavior, Hannibal had to be just about ready to scream already. 

“Well, everybody’s got their something,” Mason reasoned with a shrug. 

“It was a long shot at best,” Will sighed, rolling his eyes. He had a feeling none of Hannibal’s associates were going to save him. He was in a new world now, a corrupt one excommunicated from lawful structure; he would probably have to operate outside morality himself in order to break free.

Will chewed his crackers and scrumptiously salty, flavorful cheese loudly, and without properly closing his lips, then stuck his thumb into the small bowl of cherry jam and licked it with a similarly rude smack. “Mmm. Well, you might be a dick in every other category, Hannibal, but you sure can put a spread together.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry to interrupt our meal, Mason, but I’m afraid I must attend to the matter at hand without further delay.” Hannibal stood and buttoned his jacket, black with a matching shirt and burgundy tie. 

“Oh, by all means,” Mason chortled, carrying on drinking his wine as if he had been given an unexpected bit of dinner theatre.

“Thank you for understanding.” Hannibal walked swiftly to Will’s side of the table and yanked his chair back. He grabbed Will, one hand vice-tight on his neck and the other shoving his back, until Will hit the stone wall of the house with a pained gasp.

Will’s skin felt hot all over from the rush of terrified adrenaline, the feeling of Hannibal’s body pressed roughly against him as the other man nosed along his ear, tightening his hand around Will’s throat. If Will shifted back just a tiny bit, he’d be able to tell if Hannibal was hard. At the moment, between the thrill of suspense, the rush of his bad behavior paying off, and the humiliation of being punished while on display for Hannibal’s guest, Will’s own cock twitched as a shock of arousal poured over his body. He moaned softly as Hannibal inhaled him and let out a long sigh. Will had dabbed his neck with the Armani cologne in his room, had trailed some of it languorously down his chest, and it clearly had the desired effect of making Hannibal wild for him.

“You’ve been dreadfully naughty,” Hannibal snarled, “And it would serve you right if I fucked you here and now, hard against the wall with your pants around your ankles. I know how loud you would moan, Will. But at the moment, I have other affairs to deal with.”

 _Jesus._ Will broke out in a sweat, his cock filling out as his palms pressed to the wall. 

Hannibal turned him around and appraised him, breathing hard as Will’s heart pounded. In that moment, Will was mortified by the uncertainty of who had won this battle. He had certainly rattled his captor, but obviously it hadn’t lessoned Hannibal’s lust, only intensified it. And now Will was sporting an almost painfully acute hard-on and doubtless a slack-jawed, idiotic look on his face as a result. He was glad, at least, that he wasn’t drooling.

“Go to your room,” Hannibal commanded, one hand planted to the wall as he leaned back to give Will enough room to depart.

“I’m thirty-four years old, Hannibal, you can’t send me to my room--”

“When you act like a child, I’ll treat you like one. You’ve earned the spanking of a lifetime, and don’t think I’ll forget about it. Now _go_.”

Will walked away on slightly wobbly legs, thinking it was for the best anyway that he retreat before his state of arousal became any more obvious.

He slammed the door to his room, then climbed in bed and undressed, rubbing his hands hungrily all over his body, imagining bigger hands doing so, skillfully rough hands lined with veins, stroking his skin, grabbing his hips and digging in deep, flipping him over and spanking him, then--

Will had never been this turned on before, and he didn’t care about the origin of the feeling, not when it felt this ungodly good, so perfect, as he spanked himself, then spat on his palm and jerked his dick to a spine-tingling, awestruck orgasm, mouthing with decadent abandon, _Hannibal, Hannibal, YES!_ His hips bucked in shaky spasms as his hand was quickly covered in cum, and he cried out, free hand pressed to his sweaty brow, using the extra lubrication to keep stroking even into overstimulation, and then he grabbed the sheet and twisted it so hard it ripped.

He didn’t bother taking the sheets off the bed and cleaning them in the bathroom, choosing instead to leave them, filthy and torn, in the hope that the servant in charge of laundry would alert the master of the house to his guest’s depraved conduct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit on the short side, so Chapter 4 will be up shortly! Thank you to everyone for reading, kudos and lovely comments; I truly appreciate it more than I can say, and it keeps me going as a writer.
> 
> Just a very quick note in regard to something I'd prefer not to acknowledge, but unfortunately I've seen how this issue spirals when unaddressed: for those who have left negative critiques and demands for what they want to see in future chapters: No.
> 
> Anyway, a general last note about what's coming up: this is going to be a very sassy, fun, *smutty* fic. It's based on a wildly ridiculous premise from a sassy, fun, trashy, ultimately heartless movie. My goal is to enjoy the ridiculousness and infuse that with the usual Hannigram gothic romcom themes while adding in the genuine feels that were absent from the film (in my opinion). I can only do this stuff if I let myself go a little crazy and allow the story to be as outlandish as I've planned, while sticking to the plan which does have a purpose. Thanks for understanding! 💕💕💕


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal made himself scarce over the next few days, to the extent that Will really couldn’t imagine where he and Mason were conducting their negotiations. In the week since he’d been trapped at the villa, Will had made a careful assessment of the whole property, going on long walks in the mornings and evenings, distantly but pointedly shadowed by security. He knew the lay of the land very well, and today a survey of the garage again revealed that all the posh vehicles were still parked in their usual places. He didn’t run into the other two men in his many ambles around the gardens or investigative wandering throughout the inside of the mansion. 

At one point Will had decided to spend a whole day looking for secret entrances to hidden tunnels; he’d be thrilled for a revolving bookcase or trapdoor leading to a way out. Sadly, the place seemed to lack any such useful stereotypes of the debonair European villain’s lair.

Throughout all of Will’s searching, he often felt distracted by the sheer beauty and splendor all around him, enigmatic and subtly sinister as Hannibal himself.

It was really just like living in a museum, among priceless marble busts and stunning Renaissance paintings which told of romance, blood and fate. Angels and wood nymphs looked nearly as threatening in their eerie beauty, as the sight of John the Baptist’s head on a silver platter. The paintings seemed to leer and loom almost out of the frame if Will looked at them too long.

Will had never even left the US before, and now he was surrounded by verdantly lush Italian countryside, sad not to be able to enjoy it. How could he allow himself one moment’s admiration when he was being treated as the proverbial bird in a gilded cage, his plaintive song of despair unheeded, even his wildest acts of disobedience failing to bend the bars?

One night he couldn’t sleep, and took to the gardens around 1am, listlessly brushing his way through the maze that seemed to lack a center, simply bringing him around and around in a disorienting zigzag. The end point always took him by surprise despite his normally astute sense of direction, making Will aware it must be an especially complex design.

“Typical,” he muttered, kicking at a rock as he could have sworn he heard the security guy mutter, “Seriously, the maze, _again?_ ” from somewhere behind him.

“Sorry, Marcus,” he called over his shoulder. 

After all, Marcus wasn’t such a bad sort, or perhaps it only seemed so because Will’s choice of company was anemic: it was the armed guards, of whom Marcus was the only one who would even speak to him (in limited and bland niceties, but it counted); Olga, the maid, who remained under the impression Will was perfectly happy and content in his stay at the villa, despite anything he said (she seemed vaguely brainwashed), and the gardeners who didn’t speak English and looked absolutely terrified of ever responding to Will’s attempts at communicating with them in Italian. Then there was Hannibal himself, to whom Will spoke only as a last resort or if there seemed a particularly good chance of fucking with his mind.

“Oh!” Will breathed in excited revelation as he turned a corner and the maze abruptly deposited him near a pretty collection of periwinkles shining silver in the starlight. Last night he traversed the maze for forty minutes and came out next to a topiary of two cherubs embracing, prompting him to roughly decapitate the leafy angels and leave their heads for Hannibal to find in the kitchen sink.

“The maze has multiple endpoints,” he said as Marcus exited behind him.

“Yes, sir,” Marcus said around a long yawn. “How would you feel about exploring it during the _day_?”

The guard sounded ready to pass out, but Will had observed him enough to know he would spring back into action with the slightest indication Will was trying to escape. Marcus’ eyes never lost sharp focus; he also had about fifty pounds on Will, and from what Will could determine by examining the lines of his suit, at least two guns.

Will noticed a largish ring of wild mushrooms growing a few feet away near a series of statues representing the goddesses of the seasons. Strange, he thought, to find this outgrowth of mycelial weeds taking up space in an otherwise pristinely groomed garden. He knew enough of Hannibal to understand the man was sometimes prey to whimsical impulses, so perhaps it was here because of its rare, perfect shape, a dreamy-looking fairy ring. Also, potentially, a place-marker.

He dropped to the ground and roved his hands through the velvety carpet of grass, testing the theory. Sure enough, he found a circle of metal in the center of the fairy ring, under which lay a door that opened with a loud creak when he gave the latch a pull. Inside, there was a neat tunnel leading deep underground, complete with a ladder. Will put his flashlight between his teeth and started to descend.

“Sir, I really don’t advise that,” Marcus said, sounding worried for the first time since Will had met him.

“Why, can’t you just follow me and make sure I don’t get up to any mischief?”

“It isn’t that,” the guard explained, looking left and right as if he wished he had another voice of common sense to back up his own. “I don’t need to follow you down there because there’s no way out. Only one person ever goes down there and comes back out again.”

“Don’t worry.” Will grinned rakishly in the moonglow, emboldened by the man’s fear. The closer he got to the nerve center of Hannibal’s house of horrors, the more work he could do to damage it from within. “I’ve got this under control.”

Will followed the ladder until he dropped easily to the ground and found himself faced with a large, winding subterranean corridor lit by wall torches. The path wound on for what seemed ages, a maze under a maze, until he began to hear soft noises echoing from some point in the distance.

“Stop,” a man was crying meekly, choking on his sobs in fact, “You’ve made your point, please...stop!”

Will’s heart sped up as he ran until the hallway opened into a big room which he immediately recognized as an actual torture chamber.

Mason Verger was strapped to a medieval style Catherine wheel and Hannibal stood before him, sleeves rolled up, as calm as Will generally saw him when hard at work in the kitchen on some elaborate recipe. Mason’s legs had already been broken and Hannibal had been in the act of pressing his arms with exact precision into a series of sharpened timbers sticking out like spikes all along the wheel. As he continued applying these excruciating stabs, Hannibal spoke without turning, having noticed the sound of Will’s footsteps behind him, having _smelled_ him, beauty suddenly colliding with grisly despair.

“Curious boy. Do you like what you see?”

“Why are you doing this to him?” Will asked, voice oddly hollow. His heart was in his throat, skin cold and clammy, as the disgust he wanted to feel was transmuted to fascination.

“Save me,” Mason slobbered, panting and drooling all over himself. The place reeked of blood, sweat and worse. Hannibal really wanted this man to suffer, and Will had to know if it was for more than simple sadism. 

“He hurts children,” Hannibal answered simply, running the sharp curve of a knife along Mason’s cheek. “Even I can’t make him suffer in equivalence to the pain he’s caused so many who could not defend themselves. But I can draw this out for days, as long as possible, with an emphasis on making him completely powerless to defend himself.”

“Like his victims were,” Will nodded.

Something about his attitude piqued Hannibal’s interest, and the killer knocked Mason unconscious for a probably much-appreciated break from his misery.

“Do I repulse you even more now?” Hannibal asked, stepping forward with his butcher’s apron blood-streaked, his eyes hungry on Will in the eerie shadows. Hungry for access to the inner workings of Will’s mind, as Will had fiended for the same from him, scavenged instinctively until now he had exactly what he had sought, Hannibal, slightly at his mercy.

“Do you _want_ me to be repulsed, so you can have an excuse to kill me and end your obsession with having me?” Will smirked coldly, eyes flashing indignance. “I understand violence, Hannibal; I live with it everyday. It’s in my work, it’s in my mind and my blood, it oozes from my pores but I fight hard enough to keep it at bay. I know why you’d be driven to do this.”

“You condone it, then?” Hannibal’s voice echoed off the crypt walls, surrounding Will.

“I don’t condone it."

"But you believe me."

There was a point Will wasn't about to dwell on. He did believe Hannibal, without quite knowing why. It would be easiest to chalk it up to his empathy and profiling skills, and hardest to wonder if there was something more substantial, almost a twisted foundation for what might one day grow into trust.

"You should have found a way to bring him to justice," Will said, side-stepping Hannibal's observation. "You should have used proper channels but you’ve deemed yourself above all that, right? Now, do I regret hearing there will be one less child predator on the loose in this world? No. He deserves to suffer and there is no one more qualified to exact that particular prescription than you.”

Hannibal nodded thoughtfully. “I never wanted to make you suffer, and I’m sorry that’s what I did by bringing you here. Sometimes I wish I knew how to let you go.”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your personal crises, given that they are orchestrated at my expense,” Will snapped. “Tell me, how will you dispose of the body when you’re done here?”

Hannibal stepped forward, wiping a sheen of perspiration from his upper lip. His bangs hung damp and wild on his forehead, dipping across his eyes. “Normally, I would take his organs and his limbs, perhaps even his tongue and cheeks, cook them and eat them. But Mason is so uniquely despicable a creature that his conduct places him below the status of my usual prey.”

“He’s so horrible that he’s beneath your usual habit of cannibalizing your victims?” Will’s voice was more incredulous than anything, lacking the shock Hannibal had obviously expected.

“You don’t seem any more disgusted by me than usual, despite what I’ve just revealed.”

“Cannibalism is the ultimate act of dominance,” Will shrugged. “Suits you to a tee. Ever think about eating me?”

“Often, mylimasis. I dream I taste you on my tongue, but I can never savor you long enough. Just as you do in the waking world, you disappear out of reach before I can satiate my craving. As I've mentioned, I fear it is you who consumes me." Hannibal's thumb pressed into the tip of the knife he held by his side, drawing a thick droplet of blood. "And it is I who am truly your prisoner.”

“You left that door in the garden open for a reason. Giving me the chance to find you, to see if I’d be terrified or maybe even excited by what you do.” Will narrowed his eyes, shoving his real reaction (frightened, yes -- illicitly thrilled, even more) down deeper than ever, deeper than this chamber or his own future grave, deeper than the earth’s molten core. He refused to take these feelings out and look at them. He would say what he needed to to accomplish this evening’s goal, which was infecting Hannibal’s hope that he would ever give in. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Hannibal, but I’m neither. I wish you’d stop trying to amaze me.”

With that, he climbed back up to the surface alone, passing an almost comically astounded Marcus on his way back inside the house.

He took a long shower but couldn’t get warm again. Getting rather dejectedly into bed, he switched the light on and reached for the stack of poetry books on the bedside table. Hannibal had stocked the room with gorgeous rare first editions of classic literature, so that Will had no use for the television with its thousands of channels that would only rankle on his already fragile nerves. He knew he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, so he stared almost desperately at page after page of Keats, Rossetti and Shelley, as if looking for answers. When morning came, he finally drifted into slumber with his finger planted over the passage,

_“We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *-"Goblin Market," Christina Rossetti


	5. Chapter 5

Will rolled over in bed one morning a week later with a soft yawn, hazily prying his eyes open only to find Hannibal lying on the other side. The killer was shirtless, in just a pair of pajama pants, with his strong arms extended over his head, asleep. Will hadn’t seen him since their encounter in the crypt; he seemed always to have left any given room moments before Will entered it.

The rosy-gold sunshine slipped through the curtains, casting Hannibal’s Greek-God physique in shimmering shades, and Will lay on his side watching for a few minutes, the rise and fall of vulnerable breath in his chest, the innocent peacefulness of his normally severe, handsome face. He smelled _good_ ; whatever cologne he wore had left him resplendent with peppery notes of bergamot and musky wood, and the natural scent of his skin was its own type of drug. 

Will could just imagine burying his face in all that thick silvery chest hair and breathing in deep, nuzzling his cheek against hot skin until he felt the other man’s heartbeat growing faster in response. His arms would come up around Will and they’d kiss, cocks hard against each other until they began to grind and writhe. 

An aching feeling rose up in his heart, and Will reached over, almost allowing his fingers to brush down Hannibal’s side, to feel the shapes of his ribs and how warm his skin must be, so warm he could feel the heat reverberating even by getting this close. 

_Stop it,_ he scolded himself, drawing back, climbing out of bed as he shook his head in bafflement at his own weakness. _It’s wrong, all wrong._ He’s _all wrong. You can’t._

The conflict inside him became infuriating, and he decided to have more fun at Hannibal’s expense. He waited for the older man to begin waking, gentle flutters of long, pale lashes on his cheeks before golden eyes opened and Hannibal pushed himself half-up on his elbows.

Will took off his shorts and t-shirt, then walked naked to the bathroom, hips swaying, at a slow enough pace for Hannibal to get quite an eyeful of his derriere.

Hoping he’d shocked his captor into a coma, Will walked into the shower, which resembled a big glass cell and featured two shower-heads side-by-side. He switched on the hot water and began washing himself, wishing he could also wash away the erotic thrill of what he’d just done, but reasoning once again that as long as he didn’t act on it, there was no harm.

Two could play at the game Will had initiated, and after a minute Hannibal appeared, stepping naked under the shower-head beside him. Will immediately stared at him, eyes going huge with fascinated lust.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Hannibal said curtly, massaging a dollop of gingery shampoo into his silver-brown hair as if they were long since married and used to sharing showers. He rinsed out his hair and began nonchalantly rubbing soap all over his chest and stomach. “Some new assets I must acquire for my uncle. It will require a good deal of work for me to get back into his graces. As you know, the negotiation between myself and Mason was left at an irreparable impasse.”

Will trembled, eyes trailing helplessly down Hannibal’s body, over firm biceps, past pebbled, oh-so-lickable nipples and following the soapy trail of hair over his softly curved belly. The wet, steamy silence between them magnified as Hannibal glanced up at Will, then admired all of him in return, gazing between his legs as Will’s cock grew even harder and jerked slightly all on its own.

Hannibal licked his lips and returned his attention to Will’s eyes as he added, “Where we are going next there will be several parties with fancy dress required. Please take this into consideration with what you pack. I’ll extend you the dignity of assuming you’ve learned your lesson after your last set of shenanigans, and plan to be good for me this time.”

Will couldn’t say a word, couldn’t seem to remember any at the moment, or even what words were. Hannibal was hard, too, huge and bulging; he’d never seen such a perfect cock, even with all the porn he watched as a result of too many desperately lonely nights, and —

_Oh, God._

“Do you want something from me, Will,” Hannibal asked softly, “Or are you just looking?”

His tone carried the understanding that he was opening himself up to rejection yet again, but couldn’t resist asking.

Will stepped in front of Hannibal and smoothed his hands down over the other man’s back to cup his ass, making Hannibal shiver despite the heat all around and between them. He backed Hannibal into the wall and stared up at him, both of them dripping, cocks inches apart. Will placed both of his palms on Hannibal’s chest, nearly losing sight of everything else at the feeling of the other man’s body under his touch, rippling muscle and toned, gorgeous skin. He dragged his hands lazily down Hannibal’s stomach, and although the last thing he wanted to do was stop, he forced himself to remember who he was and why he’d been brought here, like an object to be owned, a delicate trinket added to an already greedy and overflowing collection. 

“In your dreams,” Will whispered, pulling his hands back just before they dropped lower. He started to walk away, but Hannibal grabbed him by the hair and yanked him against his body again, not pressing his erection between Will’s cheeks or doing anything Will expected as his heart squeezed, caught between pleasure and pain, yearning versus fear and stubbornness. It was all far too much. 

Hannibal just held Will’s back against his chest and pulled harder on his hair, drawing a ragged moan from his captive. Then he poured words into Will’s ear along with a rough tug of it with his teeth, “You are killing me, Will.”

Not what Will had expected, either. No threats, no complaints, just the honest truth. His head spun with it as he made himself answer, a little too breathlessly, “Good.”

Hannibal let him go, then grabbed a towel and disappeared.

***

That afternoon, Will lingered outside the library, transfixed by the sound of Hannibal’s fingers tripping rapidly over the piano keys in an endless-feeling cascade of emotion. It sounded not only as if the expert playing came easily for Hannibal, but that he _must_ play, must have this outlet, lest he go mad. The longer Will listened, the more it seemed he was the song, he was under Hannibal’s fingers and unspooling into irresistible longing, Chopin blossoming into Beethoven, passion spilling from every perfect note.

“If you continue these little visits, you’re going to run the risk of propping up my ego,” Hannibal said pointedly after the next song ended with Will’s back to the wall beside the library entrance, his heart flooded with beguiling darkness. 

Of course, he didn’t even turn around as Will made a reluctant, blushing appearance in the room. This was at least the fifth time he’d eavesdropped on Hannibal’s breathtaking solitary performances, and he should have _known_ , of course that Hannibal knew he was there. 

“There’s not much to do around here,” Will lied, walking a winding path through the stacks, running his fingers along the spines of meticulously organized volumes. “I assumed you were playing for me, anyway.”

It seemed best to punctuate this observation by flipping open the nearest book to hide his face. But he happened to grab an illustrated copy of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ , not the ideal selection since his cheeks had already gone from pink to red. The page showed an intricate, truly exquisite rendering of a forest tryst between the eponymous heroine and her rugged gamekeeper.

The artwork was so evocative, Will could feel his own soil-caked thighs wrapped tight around his forbidden lover, could feel the hard ground beneath his back and the branches scraping his skin, strong hands slamming his wrists to the dirt, exultant cries pulled from his lips like promises licked and sucked into the mouth of the one above him, the feeling above all of surrender, peace in chaos.

“Curious boy,” Hannibal said, half-turned from the piano so that he could discern Will’s choice of reading. He looked wonderful, among his naughty books and austere art, plaid suit jacket wrapped around the chair as he sat in his grey dress shirt with his hair and eyes so soft. “Do you like what you see?”

Will slammed the book shut and shoved it back into its slot, frustrated and yes, just so fucking, horribly curious. 

“You’d always rather ask your own questions than answer mine,” Will accused.

“Fair enough. Yes, I play for you. Are my selected pieces to your taste?”

 _Yes._ “No,” Will drawled as if bored again, dragging his palm over the bookshelf. “All that florid, fussy stuff is a little stereotypical, don’t you think? What’s next, the Overture from _Romeo and Juliet_?”

“If you like,” Hannibal smiled, playing a quick, simplistic, amused few notes of the main theme. “ _’You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound_.’”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay down here where it’s safe,” Will said, refusing to look impressed. “If you take requests, how about some classic rock?”

Smirking, Hannibal began playing the chorus to “Can’t Fight this Feeling,” and Will couldn’t help bursting out in laughter.

“For fuck’s sake, is that REO Speedwagon?” He stopped at the end of the bookshelf closest to the piano and leaned against it, arms crossed. Closed off but almost relaxed. “You would think _that’s_ classic rock.”

“Perhaps the message runs deeper than a surface-level jukebox selection,” Hannibal mused.

“Oh, come on, what message? _You_? Fighting a feeling? Please, I doubt you’ve ever had to hold back a single urge. You go around grabbing whatever and _whoever_ you want, you kill people who annoy you and eat them, why? For fun, for spite, in celebration of your own profound wickedness?”

“You needn’t pose such ideas as questions when you have clearly come to your own conclusions as to my personality and motivations.” Hannibal began sorting through some sheet music pages, still watching Will from the corners of his eyes. 

“Tell me, Will, have you worked up a profile for me?”

“You’ve scattered enough breadcrumbs to make it easier than usual,” Will shrugged. “Your collection of anatomy books, for example. I’m sure you’ve had to do copious research, over the years, to learn the best methods of dismantling, torturing, murdering...preserving the organs to be consumed. Too bad they don’t really sell a cookbook for that, huh?”

“I’m self-taught,” Hannibal said cheerfully, as if he was pleased that Will was showing an interest in his hobbies. “I wanted to go into medicine, but my Uncle wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted I take over the family’s largest concerns, and I could hardly say no after all he and my Aunt Murasaki had done, taking me in, raising me, even making me an heir to their fortune.”

“You had to find other means of exploring your macabre fascination with life and death, power over the human body, the opportunity to make it into art."

Will thought about the display Hannibal had made of Mason Verger's body. He'd seen a picture of it on Marcus' phone, had asked the guard to let him get a closer look, only for a moment. Mason had been found many miles away in a quiet field, mounted on a cross, limbs loose as spaghetti nailed mockingly into place. The caption mentioned that Mason had been a devout Christian, and Will had to admit, if only to himself, it was a brilliantly damning tableau. 

"The bigger question is, why do you feel that urge in the first place? What happened to make you so hellishly morbid, so obsessed with control?”

Hannibal arranged the sheet music back on the stand above the keys and pursed his lips, looking away from Will now. “Nothing happened, except for me.”

“You want me to see,” Will posited, strolling the room again, sitting on top of a desk beside an enormous globe and giving it a pensive spin. “But you don’t want me to understand?”

“You understand enough.” It seemed a clear indication the subject was closed, for now at least. 

Hannibal glanced at Will through half-hooded eyes and asked, “Have you packed your bag for our next journey? I think you’ll find it a pleasant surprise, although I will be somewhat busy with work during our stay.”

Will laughed softly, impressed again. Hannibal knew exactly how to piss him off, and in that moment it must have seemed a better option than allowing Will to dig any deeper into his past wounds. 

“We can argue about that later. I’d like to stay here a bit longer and read, if you don’t mind.”

Hannibal nodded, his hands moving back to the keys as Will began wandering the stacks again. He smiled as Hannibal started to play another song, “Moonlight Mile” by the Rolling Stones, much more suited to Will’s usual taste, and to the delicate, untenable truce between them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: drunken suicide attempt

Will had to be forced onto the private plane by Hannibal’s henchmen, and although he fought tooth and nail, screaming his head off, it was an isolated air field and there was no hope of rescue. The truce between kidnapper and prisoner had been shattered, a mere illusion conjured by their stay at the villa, suspended in time and lost in each other's mazes. The reality of their roles in this brought the anger back out of Will, and even if Hannibal was disappointed to lose the facade of tender hope, he reveled in the sight of his sweet boy so entirely worked up, almost feral.

“You’ll tire yourself out at that rate,” Hannibal noted as he took his seat across from Will with a serene smile. 

Will panted and glared at him, his lungs burning from the fight. “I’m great in bed you know,” he sniped bitterly.

“I’ve never doubted it for a moment, although I suspect I have much to teach you. Obedience seems to be nearly a foreign concept, but rest assured I’m quite skilled in drawing it out. Among other things.”

Hannibal might have been talking about the weather for all the concern in his voice or expression, both perfectly light and casual, but the fire in his eyes and the tenseness in his hands on the armrests made Will smile as if relishing a brief victory.

“I’d be the best lay you ever had,” Will went on smugly, “I’d clench around you so tight it would feel like heaven, I’d ride you until you begged _me_ for mercy.”

“I’d fuck you so hard they'd hear you screaming back at Quantico,” Hannibal replied, dropping his hands into his lap as they both leaned forward instinctively, eyes locked in another fraught battle of words. “I’d have you weak and trembling and crying because it hurts so good and you’re such a very needy boy, aren’t you, Will?”

That struck a nerve, Hannibal knew, as Will blushed brighter. “My gag reflex is practically nonexistent,” he bragged.

“Something we have in common,” Hannibal answered, unfazed.

“Refractory period?” Will laughed. “What’s that? I’d wear you out, old man.”

Hannibal bristled. “Challenge accepted.”

“Too bad then, that you’ll never, ever have me, and all of this?” Will twirled his finger in the air mockingly. “Is just a big waste of time.”

“We’ll see about that,” Hannibal smiled, although darkness still churned in his eyes. He raised his voice slightly to call for the nearest attendant. “Franco, I think some champagne, for me and my lovely guest.”

A long pause followed while Will glowered, supremely annoyed.

“Why did you come to my bed the other night?” He asked finally.

“Because,” Hannibal admitted, reaching over to strap Will into his seatbelt, “I missed you. After you saw what I’d done to Mason, I stayed away because I felt uncomfortably exposed...that truly you had seen me naked, stripped down more than the removal of clothing could ever reveal. To the bone. I only meant to watch you sleep for a few minutes, but you were so…” 

A twinge came over Hannibal, vulnerability such as he fought to avoid at all costs. Will's face softened as if he felt the ache, too, more than contagious. As if it equally originated in his own body, even in his heart. 

“I got carried away,” Hannibal murmured, caramel eyes sad before he covered them in his sunglasses and looked out the window. Somehow this conversation had taken a turn that sucked all the playful optimism right out of him. “It won’t happen again.”

***

“Have you ever been to Paris, Will?” Hannibal inquired as they strolled by the sparkling Seine. Marcus and several other minions walked behind them, while Hannibal’s business associate waited ahead at a swanky cafe. The day was splendid; he could not have wished for a more perfectly blue sky, nor a sweeter sun to beam down on their first day together in France.

Will paused for a moment, taking in the sights, from the elegantly lush growth of trees lining the streets by the river, to the artists dabbing paintbrushes to canvas, some of them even wearing berets. The smell of coffee and fresh-baked baguettes wafted through the air as excited tourists posed for pictures all around them. At the moment, Will was certainly the only person in the vicinity wearing an indignant scowl.

“I’ve never been anywhere. I still haven’t been to Tuscany, or Paris. I’m just...trapped in a postcard, drowning in panoramic views. The Eiffel tower looks like a toy.”

“I wish you could enjoy yourself,” Hannibal said, still wearing his sunglasses like a mask, although the melancholy strain in his voice spoke volumes. 

After all of Hannibal’s ambitious plans, everything seemed to be falling to pieces. Each time he thought he felt Will drawing near, his beloved would lash out and go back into hiding. 

For so long, he thought life was about taking what he wanted. Everything always came so easily; anyone he’d wanted in the past had always melted to his control without the slightest resistance. Robertus had raised him with this self-centered and domineering mindset, and the instinct soothed him after the hideous ordeals of his early childhood. Hannibal knew how it felt to lose the person he loved most in the world; he knew how it felt to be dragged to a state of total chaos, and he could never be weak like that again. Not even for Will. 

“I’ve made it clear you’re not a toy to me, Will,” he said more firmly, resting his hand lightly on Will’s bare elbow. “Don’t be so stubbornly resistant to change that you deny yourself every pleasure you might take from what I can give you.”

Will only scowled again, and it was unreasonably beautiful. He wore a white button-down shirt with short sleeves tucked into sky blue shorts, and his curls spilled over his furrowed brow as his eyes narrowed, the coldest oceans tossing Hannibal to and fro until he wished he could drown there. Better by far to submerge himself in everything Will was, to the point of suffocation. He’d take Will’s hands choking him to death, easily, happily, rather than another of these hope-decimating rejections.

“You can’t give me a damn thing, Hannibal, except a headache.”

Will stalked off ahead, trailing Hannibal’s heart behind him like a half-forgotten, annoying piece of detritus.

***

Hannibal tried so hard to focus on working out a deal with Jean-François Leclère, the associate whom he’d come to Paris to meet. They stood outdoors at the cafe bar, drinking beer and going over the logistics of weapon transportation using the usual coded sentences that worked well for public discussions. But over Leclère’s shoulder, Hannibal could see Will meandering around, mischief sparkling in his eyes, up to absolutely no good. Sensing Hannibal’s eyes on him, Will stared him down and started slowly walking closer, teasingly flicking his tongue over a cone of vanilla ice cream.

“I think we can provide the necessary materials by August,” Hannibal resumed, shaking his head in warning as Will batted his eyelashes and took a messy slurp of ice cream, leaving sticky-sweet white residue all over his pretty lips.

“I can see why you hate your job so much,” Will said, standing next to Hannibal as Leclère blinked at him in amused confusion. “This is so boring.”

“Can you stop that, please?” Hannibal asked, his face going hot. His palms itched with the desire to bend Will over the nearest table for a spanking, then fuck him senseless. Feeling like this in public, in front of an associate...it was embarrassing. Infuriating. 

He knew it was Will’s goal to make him angry, and that was even more infuriating. He wasn’t used to being played at all, never mind being played like a violin. 

Will smirked and lapped his tongue all over the remaining soft serve in the cone, being ridiculously messy about it so that more vanilla creaminess ended up on the sides of his mouth and the stubble on his chin. 

After a theatrical sigh, Will complained in a sexy, throaty voice, “Well, now I’m all _dirty._ ”

“ _Stop it,_ ” Hannibal insisted, to no avail. 

Will left the cafe and walked straight over to one of the Fontaines de la Concorde, ignoring Marcus’ hushed pleading for him to cut it out. Then he stepped into the fountain and flopped backwards, landing in the water with a big splash as tourists and locals alike stopped in their tracks to stare at the crazy American.

“I think you’d better go retrieve your little boytoy,” Leclère laughed. “You know, if you don’t get control of him, he’s going to make a laughing stock of you on every occasion.”

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment of excruciating deprivation, as there was nothing he’d love more than to break this bottle of Stella Artois and use the jagged edge to slit Leclère’s throat. He didn’t even like beer, so it would be no great loss.

However, he’d only just killed Mason Verger, and Robertus was going to be upset enough about that. He was here to try and win new deals to smooth that catastrophe over, not make things worse.

If he had to look like a fool for a few minutes, so be it. 

“He’s not my toy,” he said firmly to Leclère. Then he stalked to the fountain, grabbed Will by the scruff of his shirt, and pulled him out, glaring sternly. 

“What? I told you I was dirty, and it’s hot here, and I’m _bored,_ ” Will whined, letting Hannibal half-drag him through the streets towards their hotel. He hadn’t bothered fighting Hannibal off at any point in this show of his.

“It’s obvious you won’t cease your naughty ploys until you’re properly punished,” Hannibal seethed when they were in the hotel elevator, Will still dripping onto the floor. If it weren’t for the fact that Hannibal owned the place, they never would have been allowed inside in this state.

“What makes you think punishment will stop me?” Will laughed, not the magical laugh that had first captured Hannibal’s heart, but a cruel laugh that broke him all over again.

Will followed Hannibal to his room, where the older man inserted a key card and then flicked on the lights to reveal arrangements that finally had the effect of shutting Will up.

“This is my own personal suite, and I’ve had it designed to fit my specific proclivities.” Hannibal enjoyed watching the shocked look on Will’s face as he took in all the black leather, the rack of toys on the wall from feather tickler to riding crop and cane, the mirrored ceiling and shackles at the head and foot of the bed. 

Hannibal unbuttoned Will’s soaked shirt, looking down at him in affectionate sternness, wondering why it was so damnably hard to stay angry. At this moment, his anger would be for Will’s own good, and still it was all he could do not to cover him in kisses and beg to be loved.

Will shivered and remained otherwise still as Hannibal stripped him down to his briefs, then wrapped him in a robe and muttered in a voice brooking no further petulance, “Sit down on the bed.” Whether compelled by more of his endearing curiosity, genuine fear of consequence, or both, Will obeyed.

Hannibal took his own shirt off, grateful for one less layer of clothing on this sultry day, grateful for the air conditioning soothing the sweat from his skin. He had another fever which nothing could cool, making his heart thunder wildly as he walked up to Will in only his trousers.

Suddenly, he picked Will up and threw him back down closer to the head of the bed, causing the boy to let out a small, broken cry that went right to Hannibal's cock. 

“Do you think if you behave badly enough, I’ll want to be rid of you?” Hannibal inquired, fastening Will’s wrists into the cuffs that dangled from the headboard. 

“I guess I was just hoping,” Will sighed, watching him in a sort of trance. Hannibal moved down the bed and smiled as he shackled Will’s lovely ankles. There were so many places on Will's creamy skin where Hannibal longed to leave deep, claiming bites that would sting for days.

Then Will had no choice but to lay there with his robe half-open, showing off his glistening torso. His legs were shaking, teardrops lingering on his long, dark lashes, confused excitement obvious in every small nuance of his appearance. No one had ever been so heart-breakingly beautiful.

“Pretty baby,” Hannibal murmured, kneeling over his captive as Will’s eyes roamed all over his powerful body. He leaned in close to Will’s face, stroking a finger down his tensed wrist. “I want to keep you forever. Everything you do to push me away only deepens my desire. If you were mine, we could play all night like this, and I’d show you the discipline you’ve so richly earned. You deserve all my love and attention, and it would be yours, as I am.”

“Wait, you’re not going to…” Will shook his head with another shudder as Hannibal noticed his darling boy had grown hard beneath him, firm bulge under white terry cloth poking against Hannibal’s thigh. “Did you chain me up like this just to try and make a point?”

“I want you to know I can do this whenever I please, place you helpless beneath me and do anything I like to you. You understand?”

Will gulped and nodded, conflict roiling in his brilliant eyes. 

Hannibal dipped his face so that their mouths nearly touched, and added, “But I won’t fuck you now, because you don’t want me to.”

“Please,” Will cried softly, trembling all over, and Hannibal knew how he must be aching for relief from the throbbing arousal, the tension riveted between them to an untouchable breaking point. “Hannibal, I’m begging you…”

“And you beg so prettily, terrible boy,” Hannibal smiled, breathing Will in deep, the scent of his lust and fear. “But what are you begging me for?”

Will’s eyes said, _Don’t make me say it,_ and Hannibal shook his head. He opened the drawer beside the bed and got the keys, then undid Will’s restraints with a simple, acute observation. 

“You’ve been defying me to defy yourself.” 

"Jesus, Hannibal, why can't you just--" 

Ocean eyes and plush, over-bitten lips. Quivering, gorgeous, precious body, Hannibal's for the taking, but only if he took advantage. Hannibal couldn't stand to look another moment, not knowing that if they had sex now, Will would only hate him more afterwards. Not knowing, as he did with painful precision, that Will only wanted him out of irresistible physical impulse, which he had so expertly cultivated only to find it wasn't enough to satiate his own gnawing, tormented love. 

Abruptly, he changed the subject: “I’ll have to go out with Leclère again tonight.” 

Hannibal’s voice sounded frigid, and suddenly he was cold all over, no comfort to be found in having regained the upper hand, even for a few minutes. He wasn’t fool enough to think it would be long before Will played another trick to have him twisted inside out for him all over again. “It’s vital that I patch things up and finish the negotiation. Don’t wait up for me.”

Will just lay there with his mouth half-open, rubbing his wrists as Hannibal dressed again, then left the room.

***

It took a few moments before Will summoned the snark to blurt out, “As if I--” but Hannibal was already gone by the time he finished half-heartedly, “Would.”

Will collapsed back down to the bed and groaned. What the fuck was happening to him? Had he actually just almost caved, almost lost his mind enough to beg Hannibal to --

And he’d thought, really thought, he had this under control. He knew it was only lust. Hannibal was a mind-blowingly sexy man, there was no point denying that. Will’s body was only manifesting in automatic response to a very, very hot body getting close with the promise of more pleasure than he’d ever felt. 

_I’m only human, it’s okay._ Will stood and belted his robe tighter, a pointless and hypocritical move since he was obviously about to get in the shower and frantically masturbate. _There’s no deeper emotion underneath, it’s just sex. I won’t give in._

His inner voice sounded so disappointingly pathetic and unconvincing that Will longed to stop thinking for a nice, long while. At least for that, there was an easy solution.

*** 

Hannibal didn’t return to the hotel until past midnight. He assumed Will was probably asleep by now, most likely in his own room down the hall, which the guards would have shown him. 

So it was a matter of no small surprise to walk back into his own room and discover Will sitting out on the balcony in Hannibal's striped pajamas, a bottle of Bordeaux dangling from one hand. Will slouched in the chair with his bare feet propped up on the balcony rail, his eyes glazed and a teasing smile on his lips. 

“Out so late. Did you fuck somebody else? You were pretty worked up earlier.” Will’s words came in a wanton slur of paranoia that made Hannibal’s heart skip a beat.

“Would that bother you?” Hannibal put his keycard down on the table by the door, then slipped out of his shoes and nudged them aside before approaching Will. He hovered in the entrance to the balcony, taken aback by Will’s adorably flushed face.

“Course not,” Will laughed. “I’d say good for you! Somebody should get what they want, and it damn sure never ends up being me. So, did you? What was his name, her name? _Their_ names?” He raised his eyebrows, his exaggerated curiosity failing to conceal an underlying feeling which looked so much like despair, Hannibal thought his foolish heart must be playing tricks on him again.

“I don’t want somebody else, anybody else,” Hannibal replied, coming closer and taking the bottle from Will’s loose fingers. 

He sipped from the bottle, the wine sensuously rich, a flavor he wished they could share on each other’s mouths, on tongues tangling recklessly as he fucked Will out here for anyone to see. It wouldn't be the hot, brutal angry sex they'd wanted earlier; this time it would be love-making, slow, hard, deep and sweet.

“I’ve been nowhere except to an overrated restaurant with Leclère,” Hannibal clarified. “He talked about his new girlfriend’s favorite clubs and the best places to bicycle by the Riviera and many other dull topics until I nearly fell asleep with my head on the table.”

“Poor you.” Will took the bottle back as their fingers brushed and Hannibal’s breath caught. After another slug of wine, Will asked, “What’s so special about me anyway? I still don’t get it. I’m not worth all this misery you’re putting yourself through, trust me. I’m hard to live with, I’m stubborn and…” he shrugged. “I don’t understand. You could have anyone.”

“I told you I don’t want Anyone. I want you because I love you.” Hannibal sighed. “When I saw you on the beach that day, I could hardly believe you were real. Your smile...but Will, your eyes were so very sad. In my own naive way, I thought I could be the one to make the smile reach your eyes.”

“I’m not sure anyone can do that. I’m fucked up in the head, you know. There’s uh..." He tapped his own forehead hatefully. "There’s a disconnect.” 

Will stood and heaved himself up on the balcony rail, sitting in a precarious position which immediately made Hannibal rush to him.

“I’m fine, don’t touch me,” Will insisted. “They wouldn’t make me a real FBI agent because I’m too unstable. I can take on the point of view of a killer, and I _really_ suck at hiding how much I like it. I’m dangerous and _churlish_ , and quite frankly even my _dogs_ deserve better than having to put up with me.”

“Will,” Hannibal blurted, equally shocked by this speech and by Will’s next move, which was to stand up on the balcony railing. The ledge was only just wide enough to accommodate his feet, and they were on the twentieth floor. “Get down from there right now, Will.”

“Would you look at that?” Will crowed to the moon and the stars and all the magnificence of the city poured out below them. “Paris when it sparkles. Seems like a fitting place to say goodbye.” He moved one foot off the ledge and Hannibal lunged forward, catching him up in his arms, hugging him close in a paroxysm of terror.

“It’s fine, it’s better this way, just let me,” Will said, voice thick with inebriation. He allowed the hug but kept his arms down by his sides, his breath pooling warm against Hannibal’s neck. He wasn’t even crying, but Hannibal was.

Hannibal knew the real question that would bring Will's truth to the light. He could ask it now, _Are you really that afraid of how you feel for me?_ But it seemed cruel to take such a confession now.

“Are you that unhappy here with me?” Hannibal asked instead, smoothing a hand through Will’s sweaty curls. 

“Yes,” Will answered, “Yes. I’m already dying inside, so what’s the difference?”

 _But you’ve been the one to bring me back to life._ Hannibal drew back and took Will by the shoulders, examining his face with greater concern. “You can go, then. I release you.”

“Fuck you, Hannibal.” Will pushed him away, nearly toppling over before Hannibal caught him again. “You don’t get off that easy. I don’t want you to let me go because you’re worried I’ll die. Oooh, so you’d be destroyed by the sight of me splattered on the sidewalk? That’s not enough.”

“But all this time, you’ve been demanding that I let you--”

“I might hate myself in the morrrrrning,” Will sang in a wobbly voice, stumbling away to the bed and falling onto his stomach.

He was already asleep by the time Hannibal pulled the covers up around him. After showering, Hannibal sat on the end of the bed, gripped by nauseating worry such as he had not felt in many years, not since running through the woods hand in hand with Mischa, rushing for the secluded cabin that would prove an innocently, poorly chosen hiding place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Will started to sing, "I might hate myself in the morning / but I'm gonna love you tonight." Too bad he passed out before finishing the lyric 😩💔


	7. Chapter 7

Will woke up with a resounding groan as pain immediately besieged him, ice needles piercing his skull, dry mouth and sick stomach, the world spinning. 

“No,” he sighed, heaving himself to sit with an enormous effort. He cradled his heavy head in his hands. “Ugh, noooo…”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied primly, passing him a glass of water and two aspirins. “I’m afraid you were dreadfully intoxicated last night, and there’s nothing we can do but treat the hangover with all due haste.”

Will squinted at him, sort of loving the way he stood there calmly, except for the nervous set of his mouth. Hannibal wore a pair of the same striped pajamas Will had on too, except that his were a darker blue and actually fit him. Will’s sleeves trailed past his fingers and the waistband on the pants sagged. 

He remembered, in a bleary, confused haze, the sequence of his choices last night. He’d decided to go through Hannibal’s clothes sometime after he finished the first small bottle of red wine. Actually, the floor had been covered in opulent suits and ties, due to how entertaining it was to fling them around and watch them fly through the air before landing in a disorderly heap. The room was neat and tidy again now, the opposite of how he felt.

After opening the second bottle and finding the Bordeaux was even tastier than the Cabernet, Will thought it would be a wonderful idea to slip into Hannibal’s pj’s so that he could steal a moment of closeness with his captor. There may or may not have been an embarrassing incident of smelling the sleeve and rubbing it against his face.

This had been followed by sitting out on the balcony supposedly “to get some fresh air,” which translated to ruminating on his situation and character flaws until he sank into a deep depression. As a suitable change of subject, it seemed only logical to make up a whole host of nightmare scenarios about where Hannibal had gone that night, who he might take to bed, how someday he’d meet somebody better than Will (not even a challenge) and Will wouldn’t be special anymore. The idea of Hannibal touching and kissing someone else made him so disgustingly anxious that he started to think, in a complete panic by now, _I’m in love_ , skeleton fingers gripping his heart and digging in tight. 

That was about the time he began wondering what sort of pathetic, depraved man fell in love with a cannibalistic serial killer who kidnapped him, and then between hating himself, hating Hannibal, and deciding to start his own killing spree with whoever had the nerve to lay a finger on _his_ man, he started to spiral worse than ever.

All the shock, trauma, terror, baffling lust and even more upsetting affection that had defined his life over the last few weeks piled up like bricks weighing on his chest. He was in Paris, looking at famous, amazing views he never expected he’d get around to seeing, but it was all wrapped up in a nightmare verging treacherously close to becoming a cherished, irresistible dream. What could he do? There seemed no escape from himself, and that was the real problem: this was nothing new. He’d better have another drink.

And that was when Hannibal got back.

“I had some really bad ideas last night,” Will explained wanly. He knocked the pills into his mouth and guzzled the whole glass of water while Hannibal warned him to slow down.

“Mm fine-- Oh, God, I’m not fine.” Will ran to the bathroom and retched up the scant contents of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since the ice cream, despite the opportunity to order anything he wanted. 

“You’ll feel better soon,” Hannibal soothed, his rumbling voice so nearby making Will flush the toilet in an embarrassed hurry.

“Get out of here, you don’t want to see me like this,” Will insisted. He shouldn’t get up yet, because there was no way he was done throwing up. It would just be drool and dry heaves, but he already felt his stomach knotting as bile rose in his throat.

“Will. Would you like for me to stay here and comfort you?” Hannibal knelt beside him and began rubbing his back in slow circles, easing the tensed muscles and aching bones. Will must smell horrible right now, but Hannibal stroked a hand through his curls. “Would that be nice?”

“Oh...okay,” Will nodded shakily. 

All the times in his life he’d been sick, whether because he’d been a drunken idiot or caught a flu, there’d been no one to take care of him. When he was a kid and had a bad cold, his father used to knock him out with Nyquil and wait for it to pass, this being the extent of his bedside manner. Will didn’t know how to understand being treated as someone precious, worthy, and needed, someone who would be missed. He didn’t know how to turn away from that.

*** 

He took a nap until early afternoon, when he woke to the sound of Hannibal’s voice, deep and gritty, outside in the hall. 

“...could have _died_ ,” Hannibal raged, “Due to your negligence.”

“Sir, you told me to allow Mr. Graham some space --” It was Franco’s voice. How strange to hear the burly guard sounding completely terrified, tone high-pitched and pleading. Franco had been left to supervise Will last night.

“You left him alone in a twentieth-floor hotel room with a full liquor cabinet.” 

Now, that was just silly. Will wasn't an alcoholic, and more importantly, he wasn't _predictable._ How the hell was any bystander going to guess at every bizarre whim that might suddenly make Will go a little insane? 

Will heard a loud thud as Franco was apparently slammed against the wall. He was a big man, almost as big as Marcus, but Hannibal was fast and deadly and angrier than Will had ever heard him. Soon, Franco was sputtering for breath as Will opened the door and bleated out weakly, “Let him go, Hannibal, it’s not his fault.”

Hannibal, dressed in an immaculate eggshell shirt and grey trousers, chest heaving and hair cast wildly over his brow, had a knife poised to Franco’s gut. “He should never have left you alone like that.”

“You left me alone,” Will reasoned, putting a hand on Hannibal’s arm, calming the beast as only he could. “But it’s not your fault either, at least not entirely. I’m not a child, you can’t expect to keep me safe all the time.”

Hannibal glanced down at Will’s hand and seemed to gradually come back to himself.

“You’re fired,” Hannibal snarled at Franco, releasing the shaking man, who nodded without another word. “Consider yourself lucky as you deserve far, far worse. Don’t ever let me see your face again.”

Franco fled down the hallway and Will let out a feeble laugh that startled Hannibal. Tugging gently on his shirt, Will said, “What’s wrong with you? Get in here, you idiot.”

Will climbed back in bed as Hannibal shut the door and sat beside him. Their companionship felt too damn natural for Will to bother resisting in his drained state. Plus, he had questions.

“So last night,” Will resumed, trying to remember details past the point where he’d been drunk enough to blur everything. “Did you agree to let me go? Shit, did I turn you _down_?”

“You didn’t want me to let you go only because I feared your death,” Hannibal explained. He fiddled with a button on his shirt sleeve, avoiding Will’s eyes. 

“Well, in a perfect world, I’d prefer it if you let me go because you cared more about my happiness than your own selfish needs.” Will sighed as he lay down. The world was still a little spinny. Propping his head on his elbow, he looked up at Hannibal, catching his gaze again. “But if we lived in a perfect world, people like us probably wouldn’t even be allowed.”

Hannibal's lips quirked in a half-smile, “Probably not.”

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to extend the offer again today? Let me go?”

“I can’t let you go now,” Hannibal said, shaking his head. “ _How_ can I, knowing what you nearly did last night?”

“Oh, I’m not generally in the habit of trying to jump off buildings,” Will claimed. Hannibal shot him a stern look. “I’m not! It took a lot of alcohol to get me that brave.”

“Brave enough to give up? But not brave enough to give in and love yourself for who you truly are,” Hannibal retorted. “I can’t trust you not to hurt yourself again, Will. Someone has to look out for you.”

“How convenient for you. Yesterday, you seemed so loathe to take advantage of me even when you had me tied to your bed. Today, it’s just so easy to take my free will away, like it’s this treat you let me have when you’re able to bestow it and still feel safe. You’ll lord it over me when I’m good, then snatch it away like Charlie Brown’s football anytime the mood strikes.”

“You have me between a rock and a hard place, Will. Please don’t pretend otherwise. I thought I’d lose you last night, and that was…”

Will wanted to take his hand, but instead he rolled over onto his other side and closed his sore eyes. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink; why don’t you take a nap? Bet you have some important meetings later.”

***

“I do,” Hannibal explained when Will woke again, sitting up feeling a million times better. His stomach roared hungrily and his libido stirred as well to see Hannibal standing in front of the mirror by the door, adjusting his cuff links. 

The killer looked well-rested, mask of invulnerability back in place on his obnoxiously alluring face. He wore a flawless tux and had his hair slicked back in a debonair style that made Will’s fingers twitch with longing to mess him all up.

“You do what?” Will asked, drinking the refilled glass of water on the nightstand. It was kind of funny, he thought, the way he’d unceremoniously taken over Hannibal’s suite, marking it as his territory now, so that Hannibal seemed to be the guest.

“I do have plans this evening. I’m to meet Leclère at the opera, and after the performance he’s going to introduce me to his employer. That’s been the goal of this whole endeavor, and it’s very important -- as you say. I shouldn’t be late.”

Clad in boxers due to the clean-up and cool-down he’d managed to pull off after vomiting, sans Hannibal’s offered and very tempting help, Will swung his bare legs out of bed and stood up for a good, long stretch, yawning as his t-shirt rose up to his ribs. “No, you really shouldn’t.”

“I suppose I’d be a fool to ask you to accompany me, if you are feeling up to it.” 

Will didn’t need to look up to feel the heat of Hannibal’s eyes on his body or the warm, reciprocal pleasure flooding his veins as a result. “I’m feeling up to it, but…”

He let his eyes drift up to see Hannibal’s expectant smile shifting to a frown at the word ‘but.’

“It’s not like that, actually. I guess it’s kind of flattering that you’re so gung-ho about having me on your arm at these things. Or that you miss me when you go out alone.”

“That can’t have been easy for you to admit,” Hannibal mused, turning to face Will but not closing the few feet between them. 

_It was way too easy,_ Will thought with an acerbic inner laugh at his own ridiculousness, which sometimes threatened to eclipse Hannibal’s. 

“I’m not made of stone, you know,” he answered instead.

“I used to think I was.” Hannibal summoned the gumption to come closer now, lightly brushing his knuckles over Will’s cheek in _that way_ he had of bestowing the perfect anchoring touch. “Now I believe I was missing you all the time, all the years of mindless hedonism and decadence before I laid eyes on you. I had no idea what I needed, and perhaps that’s why I never found satisfaction, despite the impressive trail of bodies I left behind me, in various senses of the phrase.”

Smothering the jealousy that threatened to erupt once again at the merest allusion to Hannibal’s past as a lothario, Will mumbled, “That’s a little intimidating, especially since by all rights I’m entitled to hate you.”

“I’d argue you would find it easy enough to set aside the understandably satisfying cocktail of entitlement, were it not for the sidecar of moral obligation with which it is served.”

“Jesus, can you please never talk about alcohol again?” Will winced. Even the thought of imbibing right now made his stomach roil in queasy fright. 

Hannibal chortled. “I’m sorry.”

“Anyway, the reason I don’t want to go is, I don’t like crowds. I don’t do well...socializing.” Will rifled a hand through his hair with a sigh. “People start looking at me and asking questions and I just wanna run and hide. What am I supposed to say? Who knows, the wrong thing _always_ comes out.”

“Do crowds overstimulate your senses?” Hannibal guessed, “The abundant noise of chatter, the presence of bright lights, the expectation you place on yourself to meet other people’s expectations of your behavior...it might feel like an intrusion.”

“I thought psychoanalysis was _my_ speciality.” 

“I’m very keen to understand you, Will. Forgive me if _I_ become intrusive in my observations.”

“You, intrusive?” Will laid a hand on his heart as if in shock. “Never!”

Hannibal blushed, “Touche,” and began stroking his curved knuckles down Will’s bicep, raising goosebumps in his wake.

“Um, that’s...I mean, you’re right, about the social anxiety. I wouldn’t be much fun at all, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“I do not.” Hannibal smiled, pale brows pinched in thought. “But neither would I impose an evening of culture and admittedly somewhat tedious hobnobbing with the rich and corrupt of Paris.”

“‘Kay,” Will shrugged, grateful. “Have a good time, then.”

The matter seemed resolved, but Hannibal did not. “What are you going to have for dinner?”

“I don’t know, figured I’d call down for something-or-other. I’m starving, so probably in a few minutes.”

“I could stay here if you like,” Hannibal offered, genuinely surprising Will with the heartfelt, impetuous suggestion.

“You can’t do that, your Uncle is going to kill you if you don’t land this deal.” 

“I didn’t ask you about the problems it might pose for me, Will,” Hannibal said with an indulgent smile that made his eyes crease in the cutest way. “I asked you if you would like it.”

“I mean, I…” Will walked over to the balcony doors, now locked, of course. Through the gauzy curtains he could still see the skyline, the slow sunset highlighting the Eiffel tower in orange. Soon the sky would change again, would resemble black silk scattered with diamonds, and suddenly it didn’t seem quite so untouchable or false, a mere tease of forbidden enjoyment. He really was here, in Paris, with this otherworldly, strange, astounding man offering to sabotage his whole life just for a little more time in Will’s company. 

Could he really say yes?

“Will,” Hannibal remarked with a playful twinkle in his eyes as Will turned around and looked at him. He stood by the phone, the laminated hotel guide in one hand. “Have you ever ordered absolutely everything on a room service menu?”

***

“Oh my God, you _have_ to try these,” Will urged, savoring a bite of a seafood appetizer. There were scallops with celery and black truffles melded into the softest, plumpest, richest concoction he could imagine, with just the right finish of crispiness.

It was exquisite, like all of the other plates of food spread out between them on the sheet Hannibal used for a picnic blanket. Will had never been so hungry, and had definitely never tasted such expensive, luxurious fare. He hadn't been wasted like last night in years, but it came back to him now that few things ever tasted so good as comfort food after a nasty hangover. 

“Mmm, it’s quite good,” Hannibal nodded after taking a bite. He washed it down with a sip of champagne. Will had been granted sparkling grape juice, much to his amused appreciation. One of these days, he’d surely want wine again, but it wasn’t going to be tonight.

“Say it, then.” Will grinned and nudged Hannibal’s foot with his own, just a tiny little fleeting touch but Hannibal’s cheeks turned a truly gratifying shade of pink. 

“Saint Jacques, truffe du Perigord, et celeri,” Hannibal said in melodically flowing French. He looked even more proud of himself every time Will prompted him to tell the true name of a dish.

“Hmm.” Will crunched on a prawn-topped crostini, then reached for a flaky pastry topped with duck pate. “How come the French call scallops ‘St. Jacques”?”

“There’s an old story to go with that.” Hannibal explained, and Will couldn’t have said why he kept offering the man chances to show off, except for the adorable way he glowed when doing so in Will’s presence. He really never did stop trying to impress Will. 

“St. James, also known by St. Jacques or St. Santiago, used to carry a sea scallop shell during his pilgrimages. Just the bottom half.” He picked up the shell which had been presented along with the appetizer as a decorative garnish. “It works very well as a cup, as you see. Whenever the people offered the saint some sustenance on his long journeys, St. Jacques would take no more than the amount this shell could hold.”

“Very humble,” Will allowed, moving slightly closer so that he and Hannibal were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, backs against the wall. He used the excuse of reaching for more food to silently account for this move, but Hannibal gave him a sultry smirk all the same. “You wouldn’t really know anything about that, would you?” He laughed.

“No,” Hannibal admitted. “You’ve taught me self-doubt, but humility is an ongoing battle.”

They lapsed into companionable silence then, sampling a bit of everything. Will couldn’t even imagine the bill for this meal, or how many of his low-key Wolf Trap dinners could have been purchased with the same amount of money. He probably could have eaten trout, green beans and potatoes in his lonely little house for a year, but that life was a world away, back in the realm of work and bills and rules. The realm of low expectations and dead hopes. He missed his dogs, missed some aspects of his old self-soothing routine, the way it blunted the edges of his grueling daily battle to simply live and be, knowing himself, unable to forgive himself his foibles. But he didn't miss the desolation and the feeling of unworthiness, not now, not when he'd felt something more, that it didn't necessarily have to be that way. 

Hannibal seemed to be having the time of his life just watching Will eat. He wore his tux still, sans tie and jacket with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. It felt like they were having an impromptu slumber party. Will held back the word "date," just on the fringes of what his conscious thought would allow. 

Any notion of consequences for neglecting his business obligations was clearly light years from Hannibal’s mind, and that made Will feel a delirious sort of power. There was tenderness, too, but he didn’t know what to do with that part.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Will said over dessert. He was stuffed, and this was going to be his absolute last mini-eclair. Setting his dish aside, he laid an elbow across his knee, thumb planted to his lips, eyes examining Hannibal with busy fascination.

“I’m intrigued, to say the least. What’s on your mind, mylimasis?”

“You know, that word is the only reason I know you’re Lithuanian. I looked it up in the library back at the villa. You've never told me anything about your past.”

 _Mylimasis: beloved; lover; sweetie._ Hannibal chose never to use his native tongue, except for this one word he bestowed upon Will. The reaction this brought out in Will was very far past flattered, closer to the revelation he had faced the night before, piercing like a lance through all his defenses: _I'm in love._

“Did you ask the guards or Olga about my past? Where I’m from, what happened during my youth?” Hannibal was suddenly quite concerned about clearing and piling the plates, then refolding the cloth napkins. 

“No.” Will smiled, watching as Hannibal exhaled in what looked like relief. “I get the feeling you don’t like to talk about the past. And while I don’t know how much more time we’ll have of being in each other’s lives, I figure you’ll tell me about it when you’re ready. If and when.”

“If and when. Is that all you were thinking about, then?”

“No, that was a tangent.” Will chuckled. “The real thing on my mind is, uhhhh. See.” How the fuck to say this? He’d been so daring only a minute ago. “It’s just that I’ve been in this room all day, looking at your...you know, your decor…”

Hannibal either didn’t get the point or was deliberately trying to evoke more honesty by looking completely clueless as to where Will was going with this.

“I’m not quite sure how to say this.” He scratched behind his ear, then bit his lip. Hannibal watched him in rapt suspense. “I wanted to ask for something, if you’re willing. Not my freedom, but something else it’s safe to give me, even by your standards.”

“I will deny you nothing which it is in your best interest to bestow, Will, you know that.”

“Good, um...because I’ve been thinking. And…” Will blushed and looked at Hannibal with wide, bright blue eyes. “I want you to spank me.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Hannibal?” Will asked, slightly concerned. He waved a hand in front of the other man’s face, stopping just short of snapping his fingers.

“You...want me to...what?” Hannibal blurted, accent thicker than usual. “I’m sorry, Will, I’m afraid I misheard you.”

Will gave him a mischievous smile. Making Hannibal shy brought down his own defenses. “I’m saying I’ve been lying around here all day, looking at those contraptions hanging on your wall and thinking about that mirror above the bed. I’m saying I want you to take me over your knee. I want you to pull my pants and underwear down. Rub my ass nice and slow so I never know when it’s coming. Don’t say a word, just give it to me hard like you’ve been saying I deserve for all the times I’ve been _naughty._ ”

Hannibal’s hands tightened on his own legs, his jaw tense as his eyes burned with surprise and desperate desire. 

“Not now,” Will clarified, “but...maybe tomorrow. If you want.”

“You know that I want to.” Hannibal chose his words carefully. “Why do _you_ want it?”

“I think that sort of pain would do me good. That it would come as a relief to some of the things I’ve been feeling lately, that I told you about last night. Maybe as a healthier way to let those emotions come out and deal with them?”

“Your repression, your self-loathing, your fears of what you may one day become?”

Will nodded. “I trust you to do it well, and it looks like you have everything we’d need right here.” He gestured at the riding crops and canes on the wall, then took Hannibal’s hand in his own and stroked along the inside of his palm. “I’d want you to save your hands for last.”

He didn’t have to say it, because the truth shimmered in Hannibal’s elated eyes: _As a treat_.

“You’re here as my prisoner, as you put it. Do you really want to endorse my treatment of you as such?”

“You call me a guest. Right now you’re pushing me to make sure I really want this. Well, I do. Clearly, I’m stuck here -- or wherever you drag me next. I can’t get away because if I try, Marcus would shoot me down for my own good, so you can keep on _protecting_ me. Of course, when you see me bleeding from some incidental bullet wound, you’ll probably lose your temper and kill Marcus, and then that’d be on my conscience.”

Hannibal's mouth twitched. “Well, you never know. It could be Jasper or Dante.”

“Point being, if I’m going to find a way through what I’m feeling right now, I should use what I have available to me, which is…” 

“Me,” Hannibal allowed. “You plan to use me.”

Will frowned, “I don’t really mean it like that, it’s just…”

“We should discuss other contingencies,” Hannibal said briskly, standing up and folding the sheet. Their picnic, their almost-date, was now dismantled. “Make sure the boundaries are set to your preferences.”

“Hannibal…” Will trailed off, wanting to offer some reassurances that this request meant more to him than just taking what he was given or using Hannibal for what he was good for. 

But what _did_ it mean, exactly? He wasn’t about to go offering love confessions when he wasn’t even sure his feelings were real. He couldn’t know that until he was free, until the moment to be free arrived when they both knew it was time, and God, he hoped that was how it would happen. It seemed just as likely something could go terribly wrong, the power dynamic would pull the wrong way and tear, and their quasi-relationship would end in a lot more blood than a flesh wound.

“Just state your terms, please, Will,” said Hannibal crisply, “I’ll make my plans accordingly." The armor was securely back in place around Hannibal's vulnerability, but Will had to wonder if it would stand up to the act of intimacy they were planning.

“Alright. We’re not having sex, so. Just keep that in mind. You’re spanking me, and well, whipping me or whatever, ahem--” Will gulped as a wave of arousal coursed through him at the thought. “But it goes no further than that.”

“Of course,” Hannibal smiled, already melting a little. “This isn’t for me. It’s for you, and you deserve it.”

Will looked down at his hands, fingers tangled in his lap, heart pounding. “I don’t know what I deserve. What either of us deserve, really.”

_Unless it’s each other._

“It will be my honor, Will, to help you find out. Now, I think you’d better go to bed a little early tonight. You’ll need all your strength tomorrow.”

***

“You _summoned_?” Will snapped upon entering Hannibal’s suite the next morning. 

It had seemed important last night to keep up whatever boundaries still existed between them, so he had slept in his own room, apparently a huge mistake or a great idea, depending on how you looked at it. Almost immediately after lying down in strangely happy anticipation of the following day and all it might hold, Will was rudely interrupted in falling asleep by the loud, blissful sounds of a woman being fucked hard right next door. 

He clamped a pillow over his ears as mortified, heartbroken tears squeezed from his eyes. Maybe it was better to know now that Hannibal was faithless and a liar, but he wished he could go back to ignorance, to room service picnics and dreams of an impossible future, blurry but enticing.

Now he glowered as Hannibal looked up at him in complete bewilderment, or a damn good show of it. There was a lovely breakfast set up on a table for two with a single, delicate pink orchid between plates of fluffy eggs, thick-cut bacon and bright, juicy berries. Everything looked perfect, as per Hannibal’s usual preference, but it was all an illusion and Will could see through it now.

“Is something wrong, Will? I thought we might have breakfast--” Hannibal’s smile faded as Will stormed up to him, horrified to feel his own lower lip trembling. 

“Where is she, huh?” Will demanded. “I mean, I’m an idiot, obviously, for listening to you with all those sweet promises and ‘I don’t want anybody else,’ and God, everything you said that was just _way_ too good to be true. Why would I even _think_ about trusting someone like you?”

The worst part was that in getting to know Hannibal, he thought he was finally seeing someone like _himself_ , someone who could understand all of his fucked up complexity, someone with equally dark tremors of trauma and bloodlust and yearning for connection. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome had him so sick he was hallucinating, seeing a mirror when he should be seeing his own imminent doom.

“Will, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Hannibal sighed, reaching for his hand, but Will stepped back again like a spooked animal. “If you can please tell me, I will be able to explain--”

Stupid lying liar, how _could_ he? Sitting there so calm and handsome in his hotel robe and pajamas. Will pressed a hand to his own hot cheek and angrily brushed tears away.

 _”Will,”_ Hannibal said, sounding genuinely concerned now, seeming in fact to get a little upset himself. “Please just--”

“I heard you, okay! You must have known I would, I was right next door! You couldn’t even wait a single night, for fuck’s sake. The least you could have done was ask her to keep her voice down, but you must have been living for the chance to make me that jealous -- or maybe you didn’t even care, maybe you forgot I existed for a few hours. God! You lying, slutty son of a bitch, I-- who is she, where is she?”

Realization suddenly dawned on Hannibal’s face, which had gone pale, stern and agitated. “I believe I know what has happened, if you will do me the goodness to hear me out."

"Oh, by all means, proceed," Will seethed, "This ought to be good."

"I slept quite soundly last night, but before drifting off, I recall hearing Marcus and his wife having a spirited encounter in the room just one down from mine on the right.”

“Marcus? And his wife?” Will blinked in confusion.

Hannibal folded his napkin and moved it from his lap to the table, then stood and looked at Will in quiet, severe remonstration. “Yes, Diana. They haven’t seen each for for months due to all the travel I’ve had to do this summer and Marcus’ faithful service. She’s a fashion designer based here in Paris. Obviously they were thrilled to be reunited.”

“Hannibal,” Will sighed, feeling he should crumple into himself and disappear rather than deal with the aftermath of the wild accusations he’d just thrown out. He’d _lost_ it, without even realizing he’d gone off the edge until much too late.

“What I want to know is this,” Hannibal answered, taking Will’s face in both hands, a little less gently than usual. He pinched Will’s cheek firmly and said, looking so hurt, “Why would you ever think I would do such a thing to you? Why is it easier to give into your doubts than to take what I offer?”

“I don’t know.” Will hung his head.

“I love you,” Hannibal insisted, placing a hand on Will’s chest and shoving him to the bed. He parted Will’s thighs roughly as the younger man gasped, but then he fell to his knees and stayed there clasping Will’s knees, golden eyes staring up at his frightened face, which was tear-streaked and red with humiliated confusion.

“I want to marry you,” Hannibal continued, voice husky, thumbs rubbing over Will’s shaky knees. “I would lay the world at your feet. Everything I have, what I have spent my life working to accumulate and enjoy, it’s all yours. Everything I _am_ is yours. I would never try to hurt you, and faithfulness is easy for me, since no one can possibly compare with you. The thought simply has no appeal and never could. Do you understand?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Will said with a small sob, his heart soaring, skin tingling everywhere Hannibal touched. He had no idea how to trust himself to be vulnerable and open when his feelings for Hannibal were like a forest fire burning out of control, destroying all of his common sense. 

“Why is it so hard for you to believe yourself worthy of love?” Hannibal asked, fingers trailing just under the hem of Will’s boxers over his thighs so that small but potent currents of arousal sang over his skin and made him dizzy.

“Why is it so hard for you to love someone without having to control them? Why do you always have to be in charge?” Will knew he sounded whiny, perhaps even unforgivably so in the circumstances.

Hannibal stood up again with a stony demeanor, dissatisfied by Will’s question-dodging and attempt to redirect blame to him. “I’m in control because it’s what I know. It’s what I’m good at, as you so astutely observed last night. Apparently, it’s exactly what you need.”

Will watched in disbelief as Hannibal walked to the display of disciplinary implements and took down the leather flogger. He put it down for a moment and flung off his robe, letting it fall to the floor in an uncharacteristic display of impatience. Then he wrapped his fingers tight around the handle of the flogger and ordered, “Bend over, stretch your hands out in front of you.”

He was still burning up, but at Hannibal’s words and the sight of his big hand wrapped around the flogger, Will felt as if an ice cube was dragged down his spine, hitting every vertebrae on the way down. “You still want to do this?” 

“You infuriating boy, do as you are fucking _told_ , or I’ll make this so much worse for you.” Hannibal’s eyes were stormy like Will had never seen them, and given that he almost never cursed, the sound of the word “fuck” on his lips always sounded insanely erotic.

With trembling fingers, Will pushed down his boxers and bent over the bed feeling exposed, his knees pressed to the shiny black duvet which seemed ideally chosen for this scenario. It was slightly slippery so that it took an extra bit of effort to stay in position. It would be easy to dissolve after a few strikes and earn further discipline, as Will realized with his soft eyes looking up to catch glimpses of Hannibal looming over him.

Hannibal sucked in a breath at the sight of Will laid out like this, voluntarily helpless and penitent, his ass on bold display. He caressed one cheek slowly, teasing with a whisper-light touch as Will closed his eyes, immediately starting to get hard. “Oh…” Will sighed.

The flogger came down with a harsh strike that made Will cry out and grip the bedding in surprised pain. He knew it was going to smart, but he’d underestimated the bite of the soft-looking leather. Hannibal knew exactly how to snap the toy to exert the maximum amount of sweet torture, of course he did. Will only managed one quick look up at the mirror before he turned his face, exhilarated and overwhelmed. They looked so good together like this, he could barely stand to see it.

“You deserve this, Will,” Hannibal said, his low voice intensely furious. “You’ve never needed it more.” 

He flogged Will again and again, focusing on one soft, pert, pale cheek and then the other, until Will’s ass was dark pink and he was crying into the bed, “Please don’t stop.”

Will thought he would die when Hannibal paused for a moment to switch toys. He squinted through tear-hazed eyes as his captor stood behind him, wielding the cane this time. It was long, thin and hard, looking like it packed a wallop. 

“I ought to have asked you before, for which I apologize,” Hannibal said between deep breaths as he massaged Will’s ass, intentionally digging his fingers into the spots that hurt the most. The pain was so beautifully comforting that Will smiled in gratitude. “It’s only that you drive me so wild, I nearly lose my mind with it. What is your preferred safeword?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Will mumbled, “I love it, I just want you to keep going.”

Hannibal brought the cane down hard on Will’s ass, causing him to yelp in agonized delight. “Will, give me a safe word, or I’ll stop. What is it going to take to get you to _obey_?”

After another gloriously brutal wack from the cane, Will moaned, “‘Moonlight’, okay? That can be the --” He pulled at the sheets and mewled under Hannibal’s expert care as he was caned to within an inch of what he could bear. “That can be the safeword! Oh, god -- fuck --”

Will’s ass had gone from rosy pink to crimson, his skin stinging and burning. Hannibal threw the cane aside and sat down on the bed, then commanded, “Over my knee now, Will.”

It hurt to move, but Will managed to awkwardly clamber into the position, his aching hard-on now pressed against Hannibal’s thigh, his belly over the killer’s groin so that he could feel Hannibal’s answering hardness, making his mouth water even more. 

“Oh, my God...Hannibal,” Will panted. Hannibal's mood seemed to soften ever so slightly then. He roved his hand through Will’s hair and cradled his scalp, his other hand stroking and massaging over the ass he’d rendered sore and red. 

“If you were mine, I’d prefer you had something in you now, while I continue.” Hannibal used one finger to drag between Will’s cheeks, but didn’t so much as approach his hole beyond that. “A plug or my other hand, adding to the sensations you will experience.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Will moaned, shifting to and fro so that his cock rubbed against Hannibal’s thigh. All Hannibal had to do was spank him, and Will was sure he’d come. He was so close it hurt, and he’d never felt better in his life. The pain pushed out everything else but happiness. It blocked out the noise of his self-doubt and left him floating in a place where he could do what Hannibal said and simply take the love that was offered, fearlessly. 

Will was high as a kite, flying away from every worry and responsibility, and now he existed weightless in a world where there were only two people: himself and Hannibal. Under such conditions, why would it matter if he was unstable or dangerous or reckless? “Do whatever you want.” 

Had he already said that?

“I don’t think that I can, actually.” Hannibal spanked Will hard with the flat of his hand, an experiment to see how Will would react to the first instance of Hannibal’s bare hands exacting punishment. 

“Fuck,” Will whimpered, still trying to bring himself to orgasm with the small amount of friction he could create on his dick. “I love your hands. You feel so--”

Hannibal spanked him five more times, fast and hard, then stopped to cup and squeeze his cheeks. He stared down at the skin he’d marked, seeming momentarily shocked by the warm weight of Will on top of him, shamelessly grinding as he was punished, by the sheer fact of Will’s naked form and utter submission. 

“I can’t believe your beauty, nor how you respond to me,” Hannibal admitted in a throaty voice thick with emotion. “I’ve noticed before, of course -- that you bruise so easily, when I’ve barely touched you -- you are purely exquisite, Will, never doubt it for a moment.”

It was so much easier to take the punishment than the words of worship. Will forced himself to nod as Hannibal traced his spine, caressed his ass again, then spanked him with a curved hand this time, still hard, but somehow the touch felt more nurturing than scolding. 

“You should have my fingers deep in you when you’re spanked,” Hannibal muttered, pausing again to evoke suspense over when he might resume. “You wouldn’t be allowed to seek your own pleasure as I’m letting you do this time, because it’s our first time and you still aren’t ready for all of me, you’re not ready to feel me fucking you while I’m spanking you so hard that you won’t sit comfortably for a week. Are you listening to me, Will?”

“Yes...yes,” Will moaned, rocking his hips, brushing his rigid, pulsing cock against Hannibal’s clothed leg again and again, feeling the pressure rising so that soon he would shatter. He realized in that moment that he truly did trust Hannibal to pick up the pieces.

“You’re a bad boy, Will. You’ve distrusted me and made false accusations you should be ashamed of. Very, very, _very_ bad.” Hannibal spanked him harder than ever, fast, ruthless smacks that took Will exactly where he needed to go. “And I love you,” Hannibal added, not stopping to give Will a moment to breathe. 

“I love you," Hannibal repeated, the words hitting harder than a physical blow. "Do you believe me?”

God, that was the question, the one around which the whole universe seemed to pivot.

Will let out a startled whimper as his orgasm hit, long and marrow-deep, shaking his world. The pleasure spread from his aching ass out to his whole body, and he came all over Hannibal’s soft black cotton pajama pants, leaving a sticky white streak. 

“Hnnhh…” Will gasped as Hannibal’s strong arms lifted him up as if he weighed nothing.

“Shhh, now,” Hannibal soothed, laying Will down and placing the blankets over him. He lay beside Will and kissed his forehead. “Do you feel better now, my baby?”

Speechless, Will nodded, shivering despite the fact that he was sweaty. 

“Does it hurt much? Here, lie on your side, that’s better. I have a salve for you, I’ll go and--”

“Wait, please stay a minute,” Will urged, moving closer. He wanted more kisses, but he was still shy and afraid of the immensity of his own feelings. It felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for what Hannibal had just done, but how to tell him so?

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” he managed as Hannibal smiled and played with his curls. 

“You’ve already been punished for that, mylimasis. You may let it go now. All is forgiven.”

“Hannibal,” Will thought, summoning all his nerve to tell the man how he really felt, that he wanted more of this, of _them_ , whatever it meant for the future, however morally baffling their conundrum.

But just then the door to Hannibal’s suite swung open and several men in suits came barging in. At the head of the group was a man who resembled Hannibal, with his same fine cheekbones and easily wielded attitude of authority. But that was where the similarities ended. The man’s eyes were slate gray and cruel, narrowed into a glare that would probably strike fear into most people’s hearts.

Hannibal was infuriated, however. He looked to Will immediately with deep concern, then glared right back at the man and demanded, “Uncle, how dare you intrude like this--”

“I assumed from the noise that you were torturing one of our enemies,” Robertus fumed, “And although I don’t always approve of your methods, at least that would have been a better use of your time.”

Will pulled the covers up to his shoulders, even though it was totally obvious he was naked underneath. 

“You have no right to come into my room uninvited, nor to cast judgement on how I spend my time,” Hannibal retorted, and Will slowly started to think about more of how the situation appeared...his own clothing and Hannibal’s robe thrown all over the floor, the flogger and cane still nearby, both of them covered in perspiration, the white fluid caked on Hannibal’s pants…

This was _not_ how Will wanted to meet the family.

Hannibal didn’t seem embarrassed in the least, just absolutely enraged and defensive of Will. “Not to mention you’ve made a terrible first impression on Will.”

“I don’t care what the hell your latest little whore thinks of me, Hannibal. Now, you pull yourself together and act like my nephew and heir, show me some respect before I--”

Hannibal lunged at his uncle and punched him square in the jaw, then grabbed his throat and shoved him to the wall. Robertus’ guards moved as if to stop Hannibal, but Robertus put his hand up to prevent this. 

“I should tear you limb from limb for speaking about him like that,” Hannibal said, “You’ll apologize now or I’ll let myself forget everything you’ve ever done for me. That will be your downfall.”

“S--sorry,” Robertus choked out. Hannibal released him but maintained a steely glare.

“Thanks,” Will said rather drily from the bed.

“You’ve lost your mind over this --” Robertus collected himself as Hannibal stepped closer with the clear intent to attack again unless his uncle spoke of Will politely.

“This _Will_ , whoever he is. I told you to bring Mason Verger to heel and you fucking crucified him, Hannibal. I told you to finish up the deal with Leclère, and your men informed me you have spent nearly the whole time since your arrival in Paris in this fucking room! What the hell is going on with you?” Robertus looked at Hannibal as if his nephew was the most indescribably exhausting person he’d ever met, but affection still lingered in his face. He just wanted Hannibal to be _reasonable_.

Robertus might not want Hannibal beating him to a pulp, but he also wasn’t about to let this go, and he still lorded his power over his nephew with impressive certainty it would always work to keep Hannibal in line. Furthermore, he wouldn’t let his guards defend him, which meant he didn’t want Hannibal injured, despite his recent misbehavior. Will followed the encounter with discerning interest, quickly taking in the elements of their dispute which could easily tear the peace of their family to shreds. There was just too much power and too much money riding on the Lecter dynasty, and when the dust settled, Will had a feeling only one of them would emerge triumphant; perhaps only one of them would survive it and go on to lead the way to the future: Hannibal, or Robertus. A protective instinct made his heart beat faster, but Will watched Hannibal taking his uncle’s scolding without the slightest hint of guilt or trepidation.

“I’ll finish the deal with Leclère tonight. I have a plan, and I know exactly what I’m doing, Uncle.”

“Oh, really? Because from what Leclère says, you’ve left him in the lurch and he’s close to dissolving the contract. He’ll go with the fucking Italians at this rate.”

Hannibal straightened and said firmly, as if there was no doubt in the matter, “He’s not going to go with the Italians. Now, kindly remove yourself from my personal rooms and don’t ever intrude like this again. I’ll see you this evening, the ball at Versailles.”

"You'd better make good on your word, Hannibal." Robertus pointed, patting his throat with his other hand. "I'm running out of second chances."

“Bye,” Will called as Robertus and his companions filed gloomily out of the room.

“So that was awkward,” he lamented as Hannibal shrugged.

“It will be fine, my dear. My Uncle is nothing but hot air and empty threats. I still have plenty of opportunity for bringing Leclère around. His employer, Christopher Trouvé, will be in attendance at tonight’s festivities, and I'll turn on my charm to its most irresistible height. The deal will be closed by midnight, without any need for my turning into a pumpkin. Roll over and lay on your belly.”

“Well, okay,” Will acquiesced with amusement. Jesus, his ass was killing him and it felt _incredible._

Hannibal got the salve and rubbed it into Will’s sore skin with tender care. The ointment was thick and rich, deeply moisturizing with notes of jasmine and tuberose. Will loved the way it left him tingling, the way Hannibal kneaded into his skin, then smoothed with a long stroke. He relaxed into the bed and said faintly, “You sure are confident you’ll be able to charm your way into a deal you’ve pretty much ignored since we got here.”

“I…” Hannibal trailed off with a smirk in his voice. He’d noticed Will enjoying the massage and opted to continue it, stroking up Will’s back, then his neck, finding every knotted point of tension and relieving it. “Am.”

“Did you say you’re going to Versailles tonight?”

“Indeed. It’s the annual masquerade ball. Do you sound as if you’re interested in attending?” Hannibal peeked down at Will’s face and Will rolled his eyes with a laugh.

“Maybe. Maybe I want a glimpse into your world, to see what it’s actually like to be the one on your arm. After all, I’m here. So why not?”

“You flatter me, Will.” Hannibal swatted his ass very lightly, then climbed off the bed, lavishing him in a playful smile. “Really, you will turn my head.”

Will threw a pillow at him. “Shut up. What time do we have to be ready?”


	9. Chapter 9

_”Is there a place in your heart  
Where nothing ends and we start?”_  
-St. Lucia

Figuring out how to get into his suit for the ball was a trickier proposition than cracking a murder case. Will had tried complaining when Hannibal first presented him with the outfit, which of course he had commissioned ahead of time on the slim chance Will might agree to attend.

“That is ridiculous, I’ll look like a complete idiot,” Will had groused, glaring at the velvety gold jacket and frilly white shirt.

“All guests are required to dress in period attire,” Hannibal replied, not having it. 

He hung the suit on the back of Will’s closet door and brushed his fingers down the velvet approvingly. 

“Tonight you are not Will Graham, FBI agent and professor; you are a citizen of the court of Louis XIV. Perhaps the color would have won you special favor, or a bit of resentment from the King, since you will look divine in it. He was, after all, the Sun King.”

Will crossed his arms. “You’re telling me everyone is going to be dressed like this, like a big shiny macaroon?”

“I am indeed, my dear little pastry.” Hannibal bopped his nose.

“I’m going to punch you in the stomach,” Will informed him.

“Point taken,” Hannibal grinned on his way out of the room. “And don’t forget to wear your mask.”

Now Will had managed to figure out all the buttons and buckles, and he guessed he might look dapper enough if he was in the right era. Sort of like Prince Uncharming of the Court of Mustard, he thought, trying on his mask. It was pure white, with the face of a stag, curved, elegant antlers and all. Okay, he looked absurd, there was no doubt, but it was also time to go.

He felt weirdly excited as he descended the winding staircase that led to the hotel lobby where he was to meet Hannibal. When he was halfway down the stairs, he saw Hannibal, approaching him with a bright smile that made him ease up in his grip on the railing. 

His captor was dressed in a suit much like his own, except in deep, sharp red, with a mask that was a twin to his but for the color, black as a starless night. With one hand resting on the bannister and his eyes aloft on Will like a devil straining to see heaven, Hannibal waited. When Will came all the way down, trying not to trip due to the wild anticipation suddenly making him nervous and shy, Hannibal lifted his hand and bent slightly. “May I?”

“I guess?”

Hannibal kissed Will’s hand, stroking his thumb over his captive’s knuckles, and butterflies danced ecstatically in Will’s stomach. 

“I’ll have the loveliest date of them all tonight. Everyone else will be terribly jealous.” Hannibal smiled, prideful and delighted.

“Come on,” Will laughed, blushing. “No they won’t.”

Robertus strode forward from the crowd of hotel guests all dressed for the ball. He had on a maroon get-up that honestly reminded Will of a pirate’s costume, complete with the floppy black hat. Beside him was a stunning young woman with her raven hair piled on her head in glossy curls. Her gown was of shining turquoise, and her brown eyes were kind, but cautious.

“Will,” Robertus nodded with brittle politeness, “This is my ward, Chiyoh. Chiyoh, this is Will Graham, Hannibal’s young man.”

“I’m very charmed,” Chiyoh said. She had a dainty, infinitely careful way about her which Will immediately respected. They shook hands and then she and Hannibal hugged.

“It’s been far too long,” Hannibal noted as Robertus faded back into the crowd. “I’m always delighted to see you, Chiyoh.”

“And yet my presence always brings with it a certain premonition of doom,” Chiyoh smiled, adjusting her mask, which portrayed a bird with shimmering, lacy feathers made of gold and bright teal to match her dress.

“Nothing could taint my happiness in seeing you, nor in having the chance to introduce you to my beloved. But I must admit, there is an obvious undercurrent of curiosity. Your visits always precede those of my Aunt.”

“I am Murasaki’s assistant, and she often sends me ahead as a sort of scout,” Chiyoh explained to Will as they followed the other guests in exiting to the line of limousines waiting outside. “I’m to determine whether she needs to come here and make any adjustments to present circumstances, or if all is well. The Lady does prefer to remain at Castle Lecter, unless she is strictly needed elsewhere.”

“ _Castle_ Lecter?” Will repeated, blinking in surprise. He slid into the backseat of the limo between Hannibal and Chiyoh and looked at the other man questioningly. “You never told me your family have their own castle, Hannibal.”

Hannibal looked out the window as they began the drive to Versailles. He straightened his already impeccable suit jacket and said cooly, “It was my childhood home, up until I was eight. I suppose I do not mention it because it is a place where I can never go.”

He ran out of things to do with his hands and looked on the verge of quiet panic. Will reached over without thinking, covering Hannibal’s hand with his own.

***

The first part of the ball took place in the gardens, where there were appetizers, champagne and a fireworks show to enjoy. Hannibal had to spend a considerable amount of time schmoozing with Leclère and Trouvé, regaling them and the guests in the vicinity with tales of his sparkling adventures and wonderful dinner parties, his charm flowing easily as the crystal liquor into everyone’s flutes.

“I thought I might find you here,” Chiyoh observed as she came to sit beside Will on a bench slightly removed from the festivities, but close enough to watch and listen.

“How’s that?” Will asked, sipping his drink, reasoning it was safe to imbibe again if he did so slowly. 

“This is where I usually sit every year at this ball.” She stifled a yawn with a delicate pat to her mouth, looking very pretty and very jet-lagged. “I think we may share a common interest of avoiding the extroverts. With a few obvious exceptions made for the right extroverts, of course.”

“I guess you mean Hannibal.” Will looked up at the sky where vibrant rainbow colors exploded and disintegrated into long glitter trails. “I really should have corrected him during the introductions earlier. Seems he’s got everyone convinced we’re in love.”

“But not you,” Chiyoh guessed. “Yet in watching the two of you together, I never could have doubted you were lovers.”

Will wanted to smile. He wanted to glow. But he had to continue protesting far too much because falling for Hannibal was like drinking too much alcohol: it stripped his inhibitions and made him feel too at home with himself to also feel safe. 

“Well, we’re something, I don’t know what exactly. Did he tell you how we met?”

“He was vague about that. I believe he mentioned first seeing you on a beach, although he didn’t say where.”

Will chuckled. “Devil’s in the details.” 

Then it dawned on him how rare this opportunity was, to spend time conversing with someone rational, pleasant and apparently sane, who knew Hannibal well. Chiyoh seemed a miracle, and he was quietly comforted to know that his captor’s entire family, his entire past was not only made of crime and madness. He decided to take the chance to investigate, which might not occur so serendipitously again.

“For someone so outrageously social, it really is amazing how much Hannibal holds back, don’t you think?”

Chiyoh inclined her head in the world’s smallest nod. He had to be careful here; he sensed this woman felt a sisterly protectiveness about Hannibal. “That’s an old habit he honed in childhood.”

Will watched the fireworks with his best “casual” face for a few minutes, then resumed,“Why can’t he ever go home?”

Chiyoh spoke slowly, selectively: “Too many bad memories.”

Will was about to explode from the need to know more, everything. “But why?”

“That is not my story to tell.” Chiyoh looked conflicted now, fingers clasped nervously on her champagne flute. She downed the last of its contents with a smooth sip. “I do think he should tell you, that it would be good for him to have a confidant. I think it’s killing him, holding onto so much pain and sadness without acknowledgement. He’s trapped like a butterfly in a net, unable to move on.”

“Not sure how to bring the subject up, given he avoids it so aggressively.”

Chiyoh stood, clearly having decided it would be unwise to continue the discussion much longer. But before she drifted back to the nearby group of hangers-on who were laughing and following Hannibal’s every word with fascination, she added, “You might ask him someday, when the moment is right. You might ask him about Mischa.”

***

When Hannibal was free from his work obligations, he found Will in his solitary corner and held out his arm. “We’re to go inside for the dancing now, if you would do me the very great honor.”

“I can’t say no when you put it that way,” Will smiled, standing and slipping his hand over Hannibal’s arm. “I have to warn you, though, the last time I danced it was in my high school gym. I had braces and knobby knees and my partner from chem lab took pity on me for one Celine Dion song.”

“I wish I could have met you back in those times.” Hannibal led Will into the grand ballroom, where everything seemed to glisten from crystal chandeliers and countless mirrors. All was luxury and gold and jubilation, and as Hannibal steered Will confidently onto the marble dancefloor, Will felt his infatuation for the man refracted into a thousand small glints of possibility, shimmering in glass and diamond dust.

“I was a dork,” Will admitted.

He was relieved to find that instead of a stuffy, intimidating string quartet, there was a DJ, playing the sort of contemporary pop that used to annoy him to no end. Now it didn’t seem so bad, really, not with the way Hannibal led him through the simple steps of a midtempo song, one hand on Will’s waist while the other pressed warmly around his hand. Anachronistic song choices aside, this felt undeniably nice.

“My dad had to move so often for work that I never really got to make friends. It’s hard enough being uprooted that many times and starting over when you’re outgoing. But for me…” Will laughed and shuddered at the recollection, but it wasn’t really funny and Hannibal knew it.

“Always the new, shy boy at school. Always the stranger.” Hannibal gazed at him with discerning tenderness and Will nodded.

“Always.”

There was nothing a mask could do to hide either one of them in this moment, swaying and turning fluidly to the beat, to the warm flow of romantic lyrics. 

“Will you show me pictures someday? I am sure you were quite heartbreakingly adorable.”

“I think I’m in the background of one of the yearbook photos from prom night,” Will recalled. “Guess I could dig it up sometime.”

“Look at us, talking about our future as if we have one.” Hannibal sounded strange, bliss tinged with the premonition of sadness to come.

“Well, this isn’t a night for reality, Hannibal. You’ve brought me to a fairy tale. That’s where we are now. And even if it’s one of those ancient stories where it all ends in bloody despair, that doesn’t make it any less beautiful to be here now.”

Hannibal nodded, eyes smoldering behind his mask as the song changed to a slower one. He merely adapted the pace of his steps to match the new beat, but Will laughed softly and went full middle school on him. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and rested his head in the crook of his shoulder, smiling as Hannibal’s slightly trembling hands moved down to a school-dance-inappropriate place on his very low back. 

“This night belongs to the old world, to shadows and vines that choke one into delighted epiphanies. That world is sleeping, but never dormant.” Hannibal’s voice rumbled close by Will’s ear as the words of the song seeped into their conversation like more steps in the dance, easy and smooth.

_Take you to a place  
Where there is no time, no space  
I could be your private island  
On a different planet  
Anything could happen  
Listen to the waves  
Let them wash away your pain  
I could be your fantasy..._

“I see it often,” Will admitted, “In my dreams. Everything seems inverted now, and I wonder if this is more real than real, after all.”

“We must on occasion let real life pass us by while we linger by mysterious shores, a place between dreaming and waking. There lives the siren of awe, playing a lullaby upon her lyre. Then we can abandon the day-to-day dulldrom of certainty and embrace the sensation of true wonder.”

“Like we could in childhood,” Will mused, lifting his head slightly so their mouths seemed all of a sudden achingly close.

“Whenever the grown-ups would let us.” Hannibal stared at him and Will found the bravery to allow the eye contact to continue, suspending him in a state of delirious potential. 

“I think the song ended.” Will smiled sheepishly. “Want to go outside and talk for a little while?”

Hannibal understood that Will was starting to be tired of the crowd and the heat, the eyes on the new couple that seemed multiplied by all those reflections.

“There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

On their way out to the garden, they passed by Robertus, who seemed to be on cloud nine, drunk and best friends with everyone. He clapped Hannibal on the back and shook Will’s hand, droning nonsensically of their good fortune.

“What was _that_ all about?” Will asked, taking his mask off with a sigh of relief. The band had been digging slightly into the back of his head where he rubbed now through his hair. Hannibal followed suit, and while the masks had added a fun air of mystery to the evening, Will was infinitely glad to see his gorgeous face again.

“Trouvé is ready to do business. My Uncle will be almost alarmingly pleased with me for approximately twenty-four hours.” Hannibal sat beside Will on the soft grass in front of a shining reflection pool filled with stars.

Everything here was a looking glass into another world, it seemed, a world which could absorb one and refuse to let go. Will didn’t want to let go anyway, not now.

“Why does Robertus always revert to cynicism when it comes to you?” Will inquired, leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. 

He looked up at the crescent moon, fragile and yearning as this night between them. How marvelously uncommon that they could be like this together, one moment enmeshed in violent passion, the next so tentative and sweet. Could feelings like this really last?

“My Uncle labors under the concept that successful parenting relies on a continued attitude of distrust. He has to keep me on my toes to make me perform to my absolute best, and to him, this never-ending push on his part equals love.”

“That’s not love, that’s life-long boarding school.” Will frowned. “What would happen if you up and left one day? Just said ‘screw it’ and threw the whole lot of duty and obligation away, went off to Fiji and opened up a bar or something?”

“Robertus would be furious,” Hannibal theorized, “But my Aunt Murasaki would be even less forgiving. I expect I would find myself at the wrong end of an assassin’s blade within a week. I know too much, you see, and in addition to that, there is the problem of betrayal, of dishonoring a blood bond.”

“Well even based on my own limited experience of the subject, _that’s_ definitely not love.” Will thought of his own childhood and didn’t know what was worse: to be almost ignored like a ghost in your parent’s life, or treated like a wealthy version of a Dickensien workhouse boy, pushed to your limits and still never good enough.

“I hope not,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. “I’ve always hoped not.” 

For a while they just breathed in the night with its gentle breeze of floral decadence, the muffled sound of music and conversation from inside the ballroom.

“What kind of doctor do you think you would have been, if you could do whatever you wanted?” Will asked, picturing Hannibal in a white medical coat and finding it a very pleasantly stimulating image.

“Perhaps a surgeon, or a psychiatrist. It’s seeing inside that pleases me.”

“Well, you’re good at it.” Will bumped his shoulder, finding it had become a fond little habit of late, and that every time he did it, Hannibal looked like he was fighting back a massive urge to tackle him to the ground or floor and fuck his brains out. Seemed like a great reason to keep the habit. “Where would you live?”

“Oh, I’ve never had the chance to slow down long enough to consider it.” Hannibal pressed his curled fingers to his lips and just pondered for a few moments. “I might split my time between the villa and the Paris hotel. These places feel more like home than any others, perhaps more so in light of recent memories.”

As Hannibal gazed skyward, Will could see the poignant longing in his eyes for some other life, maybe one where he’d been raised with genuine affection so that he knew how to bestow it when he grew up, without his love exploding all over the intended recipient like an atomic bomb. Perhaps a life where he could balance work with hobbies as he pleased, not living in someone else’s blueprint of his destiny.

“Wow,” Will breathed, gazing at Hannibal’s wistful profile. 

“What is it?” Hannibal glanced at him, oblivious for once to his own charm.

“It’s just…” Will laughed, not knowing how to explain. But lately, he’d found that with Hannibal it didn’t matter. He could say anything, and Hannibal would listen and be there. “You’ve got ‘that James Dean daydream look in your eyes’ right now. I didn’t know that was a real thing.”

“I’m afraid your allusion eludes me, but I’m quite flattered all the same.” Hannibal blushed and grinned, ducking his head, failing to hide his soft happiness at Will’s compliment.

“Doesn’t anyone say nice things to you?” Will’s brow furrowed. “I mean, not shallow compliments or manipulation, but honest admiration?”

“Many circumstances have rendered my life a solitary one.” Hannibal crossed his arms over his knees, folded like emotional origami. “This will hardly shock you, based on my recent conduct, but I have never had a real relationship.”

Gone entirely was Will’s tendency to lean on sarcasm in such moments, zing back with something like, _You? No clue how to have a relationship? I can’t believe it!_ Unfolding Hannibal’s inner layers was too special and enticing an endeavor for such tomfoolery, or any of Will’s own stubborn defenses.

“No,” he said instead, “I imagine you’ve had enough work to do running your criminal empire, Professor Moriarty. And running in circles trying to please un-pleasable parents is a pretty heavy side gig.” Will arched a brow, soft lips curved so that Hannibal could do nothing but chortle quietly at his astute observations and the gentle humor which made them easier to take.

“Your profile is expanding, Agent Graham. If you don’t mind my returning the favor, I wonder if your pretense of disinterest in romance comes from the idea you’ll never have it, no matter how you might otherwise search for it and desire it.”

Will bit his lip and nodded. “Abandonment requires expectation. Take away the expectation, it seems to make the whole deal easier to take. But despite the fact that I’ve spent my life trying to learn not to care about it, I do understand loneliness. I understand _your_ loneliness.”

“Tell me about it, then.” Their eyes locked, then Hannibal’s drifted to Will’s lips.

“I know those moments, in school gyms on prom nights and second dates that never lead to a third and wedding receptions where you dance with that nice-looking someone who’s just trying to be courteous by asking you. But you’re so wrapped up in that moment, you think, what if I _could_ have that in my life, that companionship, that passion and tenderness? You wish it wasn’t a bad joke you had to chase with bitterness to successfully digest. And you think, God, if he touched me right now…”

Will brushed his pinky finger over Hannibal’s, his heartbeat picking up speed. “If he kissed me, I’d die, I couldn’t even handle...”

Hannibal leaned in slowly, giving Will plenty of time to back away if he chose. Will stayed frozen in surreal excitement and desire, and Hannibal kissed his mouth almost chastely, one, then two simple presses of his dry lips to Will’s that made the earth drop away beneath them. 

“You’re still alive,” Hannibal breathed warmly against Will’s lips, and Will huffed a nervous laugh. 

“I think that’s your cue to keep kissing me,” he suggested.

Hannibal leaned close again, but Leclère and Trouvé came bumbling outside just then, both arms slung around Robertus and the three of them loudly warbling some French song Will didn’t recognize and highly doubted he would know even if he was previously familiar with it. The melody owed more to champagne than anything remotely musical.

They should be desperately annoyed, but instead Will and Hannibal just looked at each other and laughed. It seemed like they’d have plenty of time to kiss later, and for a while they were right about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they were dancing to is "Fantasy" by Alina Baraz
> 
> Hannibal's allusion to the siren of awe actually comes from an inspirational calendar: _“The siren of Awe calls us to the shores of mysterium. She plays her lyre for those willing to hear and answer her call and for those willing to forfeit their harsh song of certainty in exchange for the lullaby of wonder.”_ \- Angi Sullins, from _A Knock at the Door_
> 
> For those following the plot points from the movie, I've expanded and embellished a lot over the last few chapters. However, we are getting closer to the "yacht scene" 😉


	10. Chapter 10

_I'm someone you maybe might love  
I'll be your quiet afternoon crush  
Be your violent overnight rush  
Make you crazy over my touch_  
-Lorde

Robertus and Chiyoh left the following morning, Hannibal’s uncle heading to Florence on another matter of business while his ward returned to Lecter Castle. A couple more days were all Hannibal needed to tie up the remaining loose ends in the deal with Trouvé, but he stayed in Paris anyway, playing tourist and footsie and shy new boyfriend with Will for four full weeks of precious, previously unheard-of happiness.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confided to Will over a charcuterie board and carafe of wine at the same little cafe where they’d argued the day they arrived.

“Done what?” Will smiled, looking every inch the continental wanderer, even quite sophisticated with his pale blue shirt open at the collar and a straw fedora atop his head which Hannibal insisted looked charming. 

He still had his doubts about the hat, but it did keep the sun off his face and his sensitive skin there that was prone to burning. They spent a large part of their time out of doors these days, strolling down the length of the Seine, admiring the architecture, pondering the possibilities of heaven and hell at Notre Dame, gazing at fine art in the Louvre, and finding secluded places between austere buildings to steal soft, teasing kisses.

“Played hooky, explored Paris, _dated_?” Will smirked as Hannibal’s cheeks turned pink.

“Any of it, to tell the truth. I’ve never had time before. I have to admit that I find all three experiences incredibly fulfilling. If I’m not too careful, I could get used to this.” 

“Me, too.” Will leaned across the table and kissed him. 

These were the warm, sweet, all too brief kisses they had been exchanging since the night of the ball. There hadn’t been any sex, not even another incident of spanking, despite the way it was all Will could think about whenever he looked at Hannibal. He had the distinct feeling they were being pleasure delayers, allowing the tension to build and build. Another reason might be the delicacy of these stolen days, the desire to enjoy every moment of luminous anticipation which they could never have back. 

Will took his hat off and put it on Hannibal, then took a picture of his lovestruck smile.

***

“So, when were you supposed to follow Robertus to Florence?” Will asked later when they returned to the hotel and he automatically followed Hannibal into his suite. 

“A month ago,” Hannibal admitted. “He’s not even in Florence anymore, as I don’t doubt he’s been scrambling about covering up for my absence from numerous other meetings I was expected to attend over the past few weeks. Actually, I am supposed to be in the Maldives today, purchasing a resort.”

Will frowned. “Isn’t it weird he hasn’t been bombarding you with angry phone calls, or that he hasn’t sent a crew of minions to try and bully you back into line?”

Hannibal nodded, slipping off his shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m surprised by his silence on the matter, but I don’t think it bodes well. I might have been allowed a few days off as a reward for the Trouvé deal, but to have tarried this long is an absolutely disgraceful show of insubordination on my part. He must find it shocking, even with the few times he’s previously found me disappointing -- it was never due to neglect on my part, merely my _eccentricities_ as he saw them.”

“So how screwed _are_ you, exactly?” Will asked, worried. 

It had been all too easy not to look at the fine print as their days slipped by in a lovely haze, but this sounded very serious. He could hardly believe Hannibal’s recklessness, _wouldn’t_ believe it, in fact, were it not for the completely nonchalant way his quasi-boyfriend explained the matter.

Hannibal shrugged, apparently doing that thing Will used to do a lot as a kid: ignore his problems in the hope they would disappear if he paid them no heed. 

“I suppose we’ll find that out in due time. For now, however, I’m thinking about another picnic. And later...perhaps a film?”

That was another thing Hannibal hadn’t really done in the past, apparently: watch movies. They’d relaxed in his enormous bed in the evenings watching everything from _Casablanca_ to _Total Recall_ , and Hannibal had enjoyed each film with the sort of wide-eyed fascination only a newbie film buff could display. Irrespective of genre, he would watch with unflagging interest, Will’s head on his lap, fingers in his soft chestnut curls, perfectly contented and seemingly not a worry on his mind.

“Have you ever seen _Secretary_?” Will asked playfully.

“Is that the film about a horse?”

Will smirked, feeling devilish and happy and crazily safe. “No.”

***

Life caught up to them a few days later in the shape of Uncle Robertus sending a strangely polite invitation for them to join him on his yacht in Croatia.

“I suppose we may as well go and see what he wants,” Hannibal reasoned, making arrangements for the short flight.

Will had never been on an actual yacht before and was absolutely giddy at first, examining every detail as only a boat enthusiast could. Uncle Robertus used this time to take Hannibal aside and give him the scolding which his nephew had been expecting, but in nothing like the usual fiery tone. 

Instead he took his nephew by the back of his neck, leaned in close and muttered, “Get rid of the boy. He’s ruining you. I don’t care if you cut his throat and throw him in the water, or pack him up and ship him back to the U.S., but this is your last chance, son. You’ve cost us countless thousands over this immature obsession of yours which has made you lazy and more an embarrassment to this family by the day. _He has to go_.”

Hannibal lifted Robertus’ hand from his neck with an air of snobbish annoyance. He was sick of having to wave his uncle’s imperious demands off like intrusive gnats every time he summoned the nerve to try and live a little for himself. 

“Will is not going anywhere,” Hannibal replied as calmly as he could. He was especially irritated by Robertus’ use of the term ‘son,’ which he only bestowed when being especially high-handed and manipulative. “If you have duties you wish me to perform during our journey, I’m happy to fulfill them and even to offer my apologies for my impromptu vacation. But you’re to stop all of this needless haranguing about Will. He is the only constant I need in my life. I care for you and my Aunt, and I don’t want conflict between us, but Uncle, if you value your own continued peace in this world, do not try to make me choose.”

***

They were watching the sunset over the horizon, admiring the way the dewy pink drizzled down over melon clouds beginning to tinge in blue-grey shadows, all of it destined to sink beneath the darkening waves. It was to be a leisurely week-long cruise with a few planned stops on nearby islands, and for now the ocean looked limitless before their eyes. The boat, anchored so they might linger admiring the scenery, bobbed and swayed gently. Will sank into Hannibal’s presence again, taking in the simple, pensive calm of it. He wrapped an arm around Hannibal’s waist and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Why don’t I get us some wine?” Hannibal proposed quietly, scratching Will’s back between his shoulder-blades right where he liked it.

“Okay,” said Will, petted and spoiled as a kitten and learning to like it very well.

In Hannibal’s absence, Robertus appeared, looking imposingly stormy. He gave a brief speech basically offering Will a hundred thousand dollars to stop seeing Hannibal, and Will laughed.

“I don’t care about money.”

“Who the hell doesn’t care about money?” Robertus demanded, at the end of his rope.

“Me,” Will retorted drily, “But I’ll tell you what I do care about. The way you treat Hannibal like a servant, bossing him around, treating him like a child. I think you should stop.”

Robertus crossed his arms. “Really?”

“Yeah. He loves you, you know. He’s always looked up to you and been so grateful you took him in, and you take advantage of that to work him to the bone. Because he’s smart and great at what he does, probably better than you ever were, but you’ll never tell him that. You don’t even let him breathe.”

“How interesting. Thank you for that wholly unsolicited insight on my relationship with my nephew, which will far outlive your own.” Robertus personified fire and brimstone, but Will didn’t flinch, and that only made the patriarch angrier. “You worthless, impudent little brat.”

Catching the younger man entirely off-guard, Robertus put his hands around Will’s throat and started squeezing in a vice grip, cutting off his air. Will’s eyes went suddenly huge, and he fought back with a sharp jab of his knee to Robertus’ stomach that freed him. It took all his energy not to collapse in a wheezing fit onto the deck, but he summoned his adrenaline and punched Hannibal’s uncle in the face. 

At that point, with Robertus sprawled on the deck, Will assumed the fight was over. But Robertus lunged back up with a knife and started swiping it in a wildly chaotic way that was hard to dodge.

Just then a bullet sang through the air with an expert aim, ripping into Robertus shoulder as he howled in instant agony, dropping the knife. Will stared at Hannibal, realizing that despite their awkward grappling fight, he had somehow managed to target his uncle in a way that left Will out of the bullet’s path, a level of precision that was as surprising as anything else that had happened in the last few minutes.

“Please forgive my delay, dearest,” Hannibal said casually, stepping closer and getting between his uncle and Will. “I had to dispose of several of Robertus’ guards who were attempting to hold me below deck so that he might make this despicable attack on you. On behalf of the entire Lecter family, in fact, I apologize.”

“We probably should have brought your security guys with us,” Will remarked hoarsely, and Hannibal nodded.

“I was wrong to trust you, Uncle, as I have all this time.” 

Robertus stumbled against the guard rail between them and the sea. Hannibal continued, “I’ve spent years fooling myself you had my best interest at heart, but that would imply that you have a heart to begin with.”

“You,” Robertus hissed at his nephew, “Are the biggest disappointment of my life. I am _ashamed_ of you.”

“The time was when that would have hurt me deeply. But I don’t need your false love anymore, not now that I’ve experienced the real thing. I’ll give you one more chance, Uncle, to let this go. I can tend to that wound and you’ll still be able to use your arm, if we are prompt about it.”

“This is all your fault,” Robertus insisted, poison-grey eyes locked on Will. He sprang at his nephew, pushing him aside and grabbing for Will despite the blood gushing from his shoulder. 

Before he could reach Will, who was fully ready to defend himself, Hannibal grabbed Robertus, flipped him to the deck and used his own blade to gut him deeply, a deadly cut.

“You would choose him...over me?” Robertus asked as the life began fading from his eyes. In his own wretched, cantankerous way, he was genuinely hurt.

Will stood there staring in utter shock as Hannibal said softly, “You would take him from me, Uncle? What did you expect?” Then he watched his Uncle die, and closed his eyelids with solemn respect.

“He wasn’t going to stop, Will. He never would have left us alone.” Hannibal didn’t look up yet, almost as if he was afraid of Will’s judgement. “I had to.”

In the bizarre horror of the moment, neither of them heard one of Robertus’ henchmen approaching, having barely survived Hannibal’s vicious below-deck retaliation. He had a knife sticking out of his neck, but pure rage enabled the man to barrel into Hannibal and knock him overboard.

With a panicked cry, Will grabbed Robertus’ blood-streaked dagger and catapulted over the guard rail, diving headfirst into the water. He saw Hannibal fighting off the other man as blood exuded from Robertus’ minion in a red cloud. There was no way the man would survive this fight, but he would take Hannibal down with him unless Will acted fast.

He swam closer, deeper, then stabbed the guard quickly five times in the stomach, his eyes bright and wild under the water with the ferocious thrill of violent justice. When it was done, he got hold of Hannibal and swam to the surface, even though his own body felt sure it would give out, oxygen dwindling and Hannibal far too heavy as he’d gone entirely woozy and could barely move his limbs to help them along.

They broke to the surface and Will gave a gasp of relief, then looked down at Hannibal where the man was half-slumped in his arms. “Hannibal, come on.” He slapped his back several times, too slow due to the thick embrace of ocean around them, but amber eyes fluttered open, confused and disoriented. Hannibal coughed up water, leaning on Will for support.

Will smiled, wet and bloody. “There you are. C’mon, help me get you back on board.”

***

Will had his work cut out for him. First he dragged Hannibal as tenderly as possible into a shared shower to get out all the sea water, blood and grit. He dried them both off and it was a team effort to get Hannibal into pajamas, then into bed where he slept for several hours, weak from the near-drowning.

With great effort and plentiful cursing, Will managed to heave Robertus’ body overboard. He found cleaning products and sponges in a closet and did his best with the blood stains on the floor of Robertus’ room and the upper deck.

By then, he was utterly drained and out of breath, so he sat down for as long as it took for him to regain steady mobility. He found himself some food and drink, then gently wakened Hannibal so he could offer him some, too.

“C’mon, you’re dehydrated,” Will urged, and finally Hannibal began to sip from the offered cup of water, and ate the fruit, cheese and bread Will had set out on a plate beside him. 

With the sheets up to his chest and a still-shocked look on his face from their ordeal, Hannibal had never looked more vulnerable. “You saved me,” he marveled.

“You saved me first. But...I’m so sorry about your uncle…”

“It’s not your fault, Will.” Hannibal reached out with steady, sad eyes to clasp Will’s cheek and rub his thumb over it slowly. “It was entirely Robertus’ own doing. I held on far too tightly to the idea that he was my family, that his affection for me would always override his selfish, destructive machinations. I was wrong to think there was any other way it would end between us.” 

Will put his hand over Hannibal’s and met his gaze with a heavy-hearted sigh. “I’m sorry anyway. I’ll get you some more water, and then...think you can help me get the other two bodies overboard? Best we do that while it's still dark out."

Hannibal nodded, "Of course," and threw the sheets off, ready to launch his tired body back into action.

"After that, I think you should rest again," Will said with concern. "God knows I’m sleeping on my feet. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Hannibal managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Will. More than I can say, truly...thank you.”

***

Hannibal woke up deep into the night with a rush of disorientation, first at the feeling of rough waves pounding the boat from all sides, then at the immediate sensation of Will’s arms coming around him with a soothing sigh.

He’d been wrenched from the grip of a nightmare, a flashback to his coldest, most mournful days as a child, all cut through with visions of Mischa’s demise, then Robertus, grisly images of blood and desperation and loss. Still shaking, he held onto Will’s arm which encircled his waist. 

“It’s okay,” Will breathed close to his ear, “It’s not a bad storm, just a little rain. The anchor will stay put.”

Hannibal nodded, a few tears escaping his closed eyes as he tried to calm down, taking strength from Will’s close, warm presence. 

“It’s also okay to be sad. If you’re grieving, it’s natural, no matter how complicated things were between you and your uncle.” Will began stroking through Hannibal’s sweat-damp hair, and the latter knew it was obvious he’d had a nightmare and was now clinging silently to Will like the frightened child he had been in the dream.

The only difference was that as a child, no one came to soothe him after Mischa’s death. She was gone, and there were no more sweet pitter-patterings of little feet, then skinny, small legs climbing into bed, his sister coming to hug him when he woke up crying. Will was here now, and even in the midst of his confused grief for everything he had lost in the way of family, Hannibal was unspeakably grateful for what he had gained.

He didn’t deserve this comfort, not after drugging and kidnapping Will, then dragging him all over Europe further against his wishes. In a sickening clutch of emotion drawn out by the deluge of grief, he felt in a fuller, more vivid way than ever how badly he had trespassed against his beloved, doomed the chances Will could come to care for him in a healthy, organic way. The despicable weight of his ego crushed his heart now, to think he had treated Will with such selfishness, when now Will was holding him through his weakest hour without judgement.

He didn’t deserve Will, he told himself again with a fresh wave of tears to match the saltwater crashing and slapping against the sides of the boat. Hannibal had no claim on him and never should have deluded himself otherwise. It was with an awful swell of shame that he lay awake, feigning sleep so as not to worry Will, listening to the rain pummeling the deck and further wiping away all evidence of the recent bloody melee. There was nothing the rain could do to cleanse him of his sins, the ones that truly mattered, the ones rooted in hurting Will, who had been innocent, wrapped up in his own painful crises and hardly in need of further trauma, or the feeling of being objectified. Only Hannibal could make it right, to whatever extent it was still possible.

The spell of their time in Paris had finally broken on a stormy, midnight blue wave off the coast of Croatia, the boat surrounded by ghosts. Will slipped into an even, restful slumber, his breath coming in reassuring puffs of warmth against Hannibal’s neck. His hand on Hannibal’s stomach relaxed and he even began to snore softly, and it was devastatingly endearing, wonderful...nothing Hannibal could keep.

He’d never felt so awake in his life, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt what he must do.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter than usual, and a busy one for our boys!

“Hannibal,” Will chided when he came back to bed with a tray of breakfast. It was easy for him already, to convey a singular message of near-spousal, gentle scolding using nothing more than those three syllables. 

Hannibal thought his name had never sounded better than it did just like that, but then he remembered the way Will said it when he was over his knee, naked bottom turning red under his hand. 

To keep himself from slipping back into that delightful memory, which would in the end only deepen his present melancholy, Hannibal shot Will a grateful smile and picked up his coffee cup.

The coffee of course was exquisite, courtesy the high-end kitchen featuring every amenity one could wish. Like every other room on the yacht, it resembled a more petite version of a mansion, all polished wood cabinets, gleaming marble counter and shining silver, state of the art appliances. Here in his own quarters, there was a queen-sized bed (the smaller size was all the better for snuggling up with Will) complete with large, velvety blue pillows. They were the perfect color to watch Will recline against, as the shade emphasized the cobalt set in his eyes. Will wore a hesitant, concerned half-smile so full of affection it made Hannibal’s heart skip a beat.

One quality which Hannibal shared in common with his uncle had certainly been a taste for the finest things in life, but unlike Robertus, Hannibal had never quite surrendered his ability to _feel_ and want more transcendent satisfactions. There was _nothing_ finer he could ever have in this life than Will’s company, which was something Robertus never would have understood. He wondered how long it would be before he could think of his uncle with any sort of warm sentiment, or if that tolerant affection which he had so carefully preserved from childhood had finally given way to the stark, ugly truth of Robertus’ hateful nature.

Part of him wanted to honor what he could of Robertus’ memory, and part of him wanted to stomp every shred of the memories to bits, exile them to the same locked door in his memory palace which only the worst dreams could wrench open.

Will looked discerningly at Hannibal’s wan, strained features and the circles around his eyes. It was all too evident Hannibal had been, and still was thinking so hard that his mind felt nearly ready to give out.

“You never went back to sleep, did you?”

Will nudged the breakfast tray a little closer to Hannibal as the other man gave him a penitent, tight smile.

“I found myself suddenly with a great deal to ponder, uncomfortable thoughts perhaps best turned over immediately.” 

He buttered some toast and passed a small plate of it to Will as his captive began eating beside him with easy domesticity, the sort of feeling that once would have filled him with joy; now, only sadness. Splitting a peeled orange down the middle and removing a few segments in dutiful resignation to nourishment, he realized he had so much to say to Will and no idea where to begin.

Will watched him with his same deft perception, making Hannibal feel naked again, stripped down to bare bone and emotional tumult. 

“You killed your uncle to protect me. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Once I would have wanted you to say you’ll be mine,” Hannibal said, staring down at the food on his plate as if the deceptively cheerful array of fruit, cheese, scrambled eggs, ham and toast had any useful insight to get him through this excruciating moment.

“And now?”

“Now I’m letting you go,” he said, his eyes quickly flitting up to find Will mildly aghast. “For real this time. Partly, because I don’t know if I can protect you from what’s coming. My aunt’s vengeance may well be swift and unflinching.”

“Why else?” Will asked.

“I was going to get you a dog,” said Hannibal with a sad smile.

“Kinda ruined the surprise.” Will raised his eyebrows, taking Hannibal’s hand and stroking along the outlines of veins. “But I don’t understand why that would inspire you to give me back my freedom.”

“I was going to get you a new dog, instead of letting you go home to your own. I know how much you miss them, and still I’d prefer to give you a dog that came from me.”

“So I’d always be grateful to you for it? And because if it came from you, it’s part of you. You wouldn’t have to feel as jealous over the attention I showed it.”

“Yes,” Hannibal admitted. “It would be the same if we ever had a child. I would want to choose them, bring them to you as a gift. It’s the only way I could tolerate sharing your love. I see now that it is selfish, you’ve taught me that, mylimasis. But I don’t think I can change beyond that, be the man you deserve. I’m strong enough to let you go, but I can’t change the way I love you. It is possessive and all-consuming.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as he considered Will going home, getting over him, moving on with someone new, and his hand tightened on the fork as he pictured tearing the new lover limb from limb, or perhaps roasting them alive. Knowing he must not take that action in any such case, lest he render his vow to set Will free meaningless, Hannibal crammed the thoughts into the locked room and shoved the door shut again. That particular chamber of his palace was getting overcrowded.

“How about you let me be the judge of whether you deserve me?” Will brushed a kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. Hannibal’s fingers relaxed slightly as his cheek warmed under Will’s lips. “I think you’re right that I should go. Disappear back to Virginia, let you deal with your aunt and the aftermath of Robertus’ death. Do you think you’ll be okay, or should I be worried about you?”

“I can handle it,” Hannibal determined. “It’s my responsibility, and there is always the chance, however slight, that I may redeem myself in Murasaki’s eyes with a sensitive explanation. To avoid raising the authorities’ suspicion, we should stay at sea for a few more days, following through on Robertus’ itinerary. After that, we’ll go our separate ways, and...rather than hiding, I’ll go to my aunt at once. She will respect that, if she is remotely capable of forgiving me.”

“I’ll still be worried about you.” Will sighed. “But I guess that does sound like the best approach.”

Hannibal nodded, looking glum. But then Will had that one particular look upon his devastatingly handsome face, the one that never failed to set Hannibal’s soul alight. It was the expression which always flickered across his deeply intelligent eyes and crinkled his brow and pursed his sumptuous lips when he was wondering how he could set Hannibal’s mind at ease. Will’s instincts were so attuned that with anyone else, it would have made Hannibal feel pried open and on edge; with Will, however, it felt like a marvelous thrill every time, to know Will sensed his soul-deep unhappiness and sought to relieve it.

“Hannibal, firstly you should know that what I feel for you seems entirely real to me. I don’t _want_ to leave you.” 

Hannibal nodded, knowing the “but” was coming, because he was quite profoundly attuned to his dear Will as well.

“I need to go home,” Will went on, “not only because I miss my dogs. I need time away from you to decide what to do about us. I’ve never been able to tell if my feelings for you _are_ real, or a product of being alone with you under lock and key for such a long time, in your control. When we first, um _met_ \--”

Hannibal winced, but Will smiled to try and make the next sentences easier to take.

“I already wasn’t in the most mentally stable shape. I can’t go thinking you’re a cure-all for my problems, no matter how tempting that is. If I have space, I’ll know for sure what I should do. If I stayed, we’d only fall apart eventually, because I would always question if I was in love or just responding to _your_ love.”

“I want you to be sure,” Hannibal agreed, kissing his hand and wondering if his heart would ever beat normally again, if his breathing would be stable someday, or if it would always be like this, a grapple with panic over the thought of losing Will, then eventually, a hole in his heart where Will used to be, tormenting him with pain that nothing could heal.

He held fast to his resolve to do the right thing for once in his life, hopeless as the endeavor made him feel.

***

The next two days passed in a quietly cautious mode of enjoyment, the two of them savoring their remaining time together without discussing again the approaching deadline that loomed over their cruise through stunning, bright cerulean water. They visited a lovely resort island and lingered on the beach for a lazy afternoon of swimming and soaking up each other’s company, lying on a blanket in the soft, pale sand.

“I’ve never seen water like this before,” Will marveled as they waded into the ocean rendered shimmering jade by the alternating shifts of sunglow. “One minute it’s the richest, most unreal shade of blue, and the next it’s this startling green. Can’t decide which I like better.”

Hannibal knew he was being what Will would call “cheesy,” but he couldn’t help it. He took Will’s hand as they stood waist-deep in the warm, lovely lapping waves and laced their damp fingers together. “I’ve seen those colors before, and I cannot seem to choose a favorite either.”

Will blinked his luminescent blue-green eyes at Hannibal and grinned. “Smooth, Hannibal.”

Hannibal laughed and admitted, “I don’t feel smooth at all with you, Will; I never have. It is most disconcerting, I assure you.”

Will smirked and tickled his palm. “I’ll race you out to that cliff wall. Winner gets to pick out the most ludicrous item at the gift shop for the other person to wear. For you, I’m hoping they have something in _neon._ "

Hannibal was a skilled swimmer, and now very well recovered from the recent underwater ordeal. He could have easily bested Will, he told himself, since his ego was even now not _quite_ dormant, but the younger man did show off some impressive abilities of his own, moving with sleek, confident speed through the gorgeous water beneath the perfect summer sky. He could have won the race, he told himself again despite the fact that Will was gaining on him considerably easier than he might have anticipated. Still, just in a gesture of fondness (he told himself), he slowed down slightly and let Will take the lead.

His reward was seeing Will’s prideful glee when he arrived at their endpoint with a whoop of victory. 

The gift shops were actually quite eclectic and classy, so it took a while for Will to find something suitably atrocious, finally settling on a vivid orange t-shirt with a cartoon rendering of a sandy beach topped by a yellow blanket and teal umbrella. 

“Wow,” Will very nearly giggled when Hannibal emerged from the dressing room, the shirt clinging to his strong upper body and resting snug against his trim but slightly soft middle. 

“Actually, it’s quite comfortable,” Hannibal remarked, “The ungodly color aside.”

“I mean, wow, I give up.” Will paid for the shirt with the pin money Hannibal had given him, a small habit established in Paris. Although the younger man never verbalized it, like some of his captor’s other measures of control, the “allowance” seemed to subtly arouse Will, thus further pleasing Hannibal.

“You look gorgeous no matter what you wear,” Will clarified as they exited the shop. He slung an arm around Hannibal’s waist and kissed his neck, breathing in sea salt and rising heat. 

Hannibal was so completely undone by this simple speech and accompanying physicality that he couldn’t say a word in reply, merely wrapping an arm around Will in return as they strolled back to the yacht.

***

“Hannibal,” Will murmured, a little nervous and more than a little excited. 

Soon after their return to the boat, as they lounged on the bed, talking softly together, Hannibal had drifted into one of those ever delicious post-beach naps, and he looked so delicious doing it. Will had remained for some time, just watching him and imagining staying forever instead of running away to save what they had. He wished things were simple, then he realized that they still had enough sand in the hourglass for that to be true. Complications could wait; their deadline was inevitable, but for now, oh...for now, Will could indulge in more of this shared waking dream.

Will crept away to change his attire with this new plan in mind, and Hannibal was just stirring awake again when he came back.

He smiled to watch cinnamon eyes fluttering slowly open as Hannibal released a long yawn, squinting up at him. “Mmm?”

Hannibal seemed so deceptively innocent that Will could almost forget this was the same man who ruthlessly controlled a crime family’s central concerns by mowing down any enemy in sight, killing and eating those he found particularly rude. He didn’t want to forget it, though. There were no blind spots in his affection, only a whole-hearted need to care for someone who could be fearlessly cruel, horribly snobbish, annoyingly pompous, and absolutely, unforgettably loving, sweet, adorable and endearing. Brilliant, too, which turned Will on maybe the most of all; he’d always been aroused by intelligence, but never had he encountered someone who ticked off every single box in his fantasy lover quiz merely by existing and breathing. 

He thought what a strange, twisted, convoluted mess of a life Hannibal must have lived to believe he ever had to steal Will to get a chance with him. Sure, Hannibal made those excuses about not having time to date Will conventionally, so suave and meaning to convey himself as a fearsome tyrant, but Will saw the insecurity underneath the implacable discipline that demanded the same from those within his power. He wasn’t afraid anymore; he saw the real Hannibal, and it made him want to be seen in turn.

“I think you’re beautiful,” Will said frankly.

Hannibal didn’t reply except to stare up at him with plaintive longing in his eyes. Will stood by the side of his bed, wearing the white silk robe which Hannibal had gifted him at the villa. He used to think it was an insipid, absurd thing to wear, even embarrassing, because it so obviously leaned in the direction of negligee, a desire on Hannibal’s part to see him scantily clad in finery whose appeal eluded him, _bothered_ him with the suggestion that he was special and sexy and deserved to feel that way, up on someone’s pedestal. On Hannibal’s pedestal, as if he hung the moon.

At this moment, Will could see himself through Hannibal’s eyes without trepidation, could know himself to be adored and lusted for, and get a little high on the fact. The smooth ivory material felt like a caress to his skin, and looked perhaps... even bridal, a symbolism which would hardly escape Hannibal’s notice.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, brushing his knee against Hannibal’s hand where it dangled off the side of the bed. 

“Quite well,” Hannibal smiled. “Not least of all because it seems I’m still asleep and having the best dream of my life.”

“I’ve never had someone I wanted want me back.” Will pressed his lips together, on the verge of tears all of a sudden. The words came so easily, yet this was an admission that used to make him feel like such an undesirable loser. 

“I find that so very hard to believe, my darling.” Hannibal sat up, one long, muscular arm laying across his bent knee, sheets pooled around his ankles, wearing only a pair of grey pajama pants. He looked as he did in bed that morning at the villa when they shared a shower, dark flirtation and dangerous games -- except that perhaps he looked a little older now, aged and deepened by yet more tragedy and the knowledge that soon, Will might be out of his life for good. 

Still, he did not hesitate to indulge Will’s obviously sensuous endeavor, nor to treat it carefully. Something burning in his eyes told Will he could only hold out so long, if sufficiently tempted, before his self-control crumbled and he was taking Will over with ravenous desperation.

Will wanted it all, the obsession, the perilous hunger, to trust he was safe in the tightest grip of Hannibal’s passionate need to possess him. He wanted the tenderness that would be felt even in the hardest spanking, biting or fucking, and of course in post-coital embraces, and this was the part of Hannibal’s love he had resisted the longest: the softness, the genuine care.

All of these thoughts danced across his mind in a flurry of vivid anticipation, realizations piling up then scattering, free and delighted. No more fear. Hannibal read it in Will’s bright blue eyes and absorbed the shift in his feelings with transparent, overwhelmed wonderment.

“They wanted to use my mind, or they wanted to use my body,” Will elaborated, sinking to the bed and laying his palm over Hannibal’s warm chest, feeling the throb of his hammering heartbeat. “You see every secret side of me that scares me, you know all of me. And you really want me.” He swallowed, thinking how rare, how shockingly powerful these next three words were when you finally met someone you cared so deeply for, and they really felt this way about you in turn. “You love _me._ ”

“No matter what happens after our parting, you will always be the love of my life,” Hannibal said huskily. He didn’t move to reciprocate Will’s physical contact, content to let the younger man lead the way, for now, until he knew precisely where this was going.

“I can feel your guilt,” Will murmured, leaning in closer, brushing a soft kiss to his lips, aching for more, wetter and deeper, the way they hadn’t dared to kiss yet. He wanted everything delicate between them broken down in a hedonistic blur. “Over taking me. Stop it, now. You made a mistake, a really dumb, hurtful, idiotic, stupid--”

“I get the idea, Will,” Hannibal smiled, huffing a brief laugh but still looking worried. “I truly am sorry, and I would not blame you if you--”

“Shush, you made a mistake,” Will insisted, covering Hannibal’s lips gently with his fingers. “I can forgive you if I want to, that’s my right. I’m not leaving because I’m still upset with you for kidnapping me.”

Hannibal kissed his fingers with petal-soft care, as if each pale pad of skin, still a bit calloused from baiting hooks, wielding a gun and fixing motors, was an individual treasure. “Thank you, Will,” he ventured with a tremor in his voice.

“I’m also not leaving _yet_ ,” Will answered, shivering at Hannibal’s kisses. “I want to know if there’s time for me to give myself to you, to be yours up until the last possible minute I have to leave.” He bit his trembling lip, then added, “Can we?”

Hannibal stared at him as if he represented an impossible vision. “Yes.” His voice was gruff, his expression blown away.

“Then stand up,” Will said gently, “Right here, by the bed.”

He reached his fingertips up to Hannibal’s chest as the other man stood in a painfully strong state of suspense, breathless with his cock straining harder against his pajama pants with every move Will made. There it was again, the power-drunken sensation that was so new to Will, the understanding that with the smallest flirtation or touch, he could bring out this side of Hannibal, a fierce animal barely restrained, tensed up and burning with need for him.

Sensitivity and responsiveness were traits they had in common. It felt like a combustive, irresistible match of equals.

Sitting on the bed, Will lightly scratched down Hannibal’s chest to his stomach, then slipped his captor’s pants down and let them land around his ankles. Leaning in with his curls falling roguishly over his brow and his eyes locked on Hannibal’s face, Will took the older man’s solid, thick, delectable cock into his mouth and began to suck in long, deepening strokes.

Hannibal made a sound somewhere between a mewl and a howl, his palm hitting the ceiling as his free hand landed in Will’s hair, grasping tight around a handful of curls and using that hold to direct him. He guided Will’s head to bob hard and faster as he drove his cock with rough abandon over that eager tongue to touch the back of his throat. 

Despite Hannibal’s roughness, Will could feel him holding back from how far he would take it if he let himself go completely; in caressing Hannibal’s thighs and buttocks he felt the muscles tensed with the painful edge of restraint. The thought of Hannibal being more aggressive, wrecking his throat _more_ , had an almost narcotic effect on Will, making him eager, determined to give this man everything he could want, every sinful dream of Will he had ever entertained.

“My good boy,” he smiled, enraptured by how obediently Will deep-throated him, breathing sharply and attentively through his nose. The younger man pulled his mouth off eventually to get his breath fully back, wiping his lips with slow, teasing naughtiness and rubbing Hannibal’s erection against his neck.

Hannibal growled and flung Will down on the bed, then loosened his robe, but left it on, eyes sparkling with mischief at the decision. He licked from Will’s low belly up to his chest, setting off thousands of butterflies, then sucked each of Will’s nipples to erect, rosy-pink peaks as they both moaned. Will’s back arched as his eyes rolled up, weeks of pent-up desire and years of touch deprivation making every lavish attention to his erogenous zones almost unbearably euphoric. 

“You taste so divine,” Hannibal purred, sliding back down the bed to lick and suck at Will’s rigidly sensitive cock. He kept both hands on Will’s nipples, playing with them, using the lubrication of saliva lingering on the hardened pink buds to make it so good, sending electric tingles right to Will’s dick. Along with the silky, hot embrace of Hannibal’s mouth, it was too much and not enough and _everything_. Wanting to offer full surrender, Will held his hands up above his head while his body gave in helplessly to the pleasure he was given. 

“If you’re to be mine, I’ll take you as many times as possible, all day, all night,” Hannibal muttered, breath hot against Will’s skin as he began to kiss with tentative, provocative precision all around Will’s hole. Proving himself to be just as adept as Will at using eye contact to tease a moment to its breaking point, he stared up at Will with a wicked smile as he allowed a long trail of saliva to drip down from his mouth and land on Will’s entrance. 

“ _Hannibal,_ ” Will whimpered, his heels over Hannibal’s shoulders, toes kneading, digging deep into his skin as the other man began to eat him out with slow, loving, insatiable enjoyment, humming in complete delight at his taste and the feel of him gradually opening, the tight ring of muscles getting sopping wet and looser. 

No other lover, if Will even bothered to offer his past dating partners such an unearned label, had performed this act on him, but he’d always found it very hot in porn videos. He couldn’t have imagined how it would really feel, though, the way Hannibal’s expert, slick tongue brought out a low-grade hum of pulsating tension, first around and inside his too-long neglected entrance and the needy, tight walls within, but then also in his balls, up his cock, the bliss even spreading to his thighs in teasing tendrils of _so-good-and-not-enough_ \--

Will’s head lolled back and forth on the silky white sheets that still smelled of Hannibal’s bath soap and a small hint of ocean salt. He seemed, as best as he could understand, to be repeating Hannibal’s name in a long, dragged-out whimper he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. He felt the way it affected Hannibal, how his captor responded with a low, feral grunt, hot breath tickling his highly alert entrance so that it squeezed and fluttered open and _squeezed,_ and then Hannibal’s mouth was back, sloppy and yet so intentional, drenching Will in saliva before his perfect, wicked tongue carefully prodded inside--

“Fuck,” Will gasped, “Please, more, more, _please_ …”

Hannibal began teasing his hole with one long, thick finger, and when he pressed it inside, Will let out a loud and creative string of high-pitched swears. His back was tight to the bed, arching up, toes attacking Hannibal’s bare, warm shoulders as he put a hand to his sweaty brow over which his curls spilled chaotically. He realized his body was undulating in time with Hannibal’s fingers sliding in, in, in to the furthest knuckles, then slowly almost out, just to do it again even deeper, easier, better-- he was fucking himself on Hannibal’s fingers shamelessly.

Not letting up in his anal attentions, Hannibal slowly stroked Will’s cock from base to tip, hand slippery with spit and precum, but staying tightly attentive, and after a few minutes of this, Will felt his entire body tense up in a powerful convulsion of unstoppable pleasure. He came with three of Hannibal’s fingers plunging deep into his wet, achingly ready hole, and then Hannibal licked up the cum, grinning with his lips dripping. 

“I--” Will blinked in a delirium of confusion -- the orgasm seemed to come out of nowhere, and now he was trembling even harder from head to toe, feet gone lax on Hannibal’s shoulders. “Didn’t mean for that to happen so soon. It’s just been so long since...and nobody ever, um…” He blushed deeper, and Hannibal kissed his ankles before lowering them back to the bed, stroking Will’s legs comfortingly.

“You’re going to lose count of those by the time I’m done,” Hannibal declared. He devoured Will’s lips in kiss after heated, animalistic kiss, their tongues stroking together insistently, the salt and musk of Will’s own arousal lingering on Hannibal’s pillowy, irresistible lips. “I’m going to make up for every fool who ever neglected or hurt you. You’ll forget what sadness and loneliness even felt like, my love.”

“Mmm,” Will sighed, lost in the feeling of Hannibal’s wilder kisses. 

After all those gentle presses of lips that barely involved the politest of nibbles, it was driving him crazy now, to feel Hannibal’s mouth seized on his own with such hard, hot pressure. He sucked Hannibal’s lower lip into his mouth, then grazed it with his teeth, hoping this would elicit further aggression.

“That’s very naughty, Will.” And it was magic to Will, the way the simplest, most innocent gestures on his part were the ones to set Hannibal off like lit dynamite. Hannibal ground his cock against Will’s thigh as he consumed his lips as if caught in a violent fever, lost to everything but the sensation of Will’s mouth open and beckoning, Will’s arms tight around him, his legs coming up to encircle Hannibal’s hips. Hannibal licked deep into Will’s mouth, tasting everything, the roof of his mouth, his teeth, sucking indulgently at his tongue, ending with a feral bite to his bottom lip that left a trail of blood. Will shuddered, first at the small but potent twinge of pain, then at the feel of Hannibal lapping up the coppery red evidence of his lustful ferocity.

Out of breath, coming back to himself gradually, Hannibal pressed their foreheads together. “I know it’s too much...I meant to savor you slowly, mylimasis, but I find...it’s so hard to hold back.”

“That’s okay.” Will roved his hands over Hannibal’s shoulder blades and down over his back in comforting circles. 

The kisses _had_ been too much -- too fast, too hard and demanding without enough build-up or sufficient time to enjoy each individual variation of tongue, lips and teeth before Hannibal was doing something else, harsher and faster. But to feel that sort of all-out reckless need was entirely new to Will, and it only whetted his appetite for more of Hannibal’s passion. “We’ll have time to take it slower later. I...like that you’re so worked up.”

“How can I help it? You’re beautiful, so perfect, everything I could ever want and so much more,” Hannibal murmured, drawing back slightly to stare at him and trace the fresh cut on his lip. “I would rather have died than miss this chance to be with you, even for what little time we have left.”

Although he wasn’t sure why Hannibal was so certain he wouldn’t come back to him in the end, Will didn’t want to go blurting out any promises now, when he didn’t know if he could keep them. At the very least, he could show Hannibal how much he felt now, how hard it was going to be to leave him.

Will’s eyes were large, deep blue and wet as he opened his lips again to take in Hannibal’s thumb with a long, teasing suck. The older man’s fingers tasted of Will’s own most intimate areas and warm, strong, devoted _Hannibal_ , and it made Will smile as he lapped his tongue in circles. Hannibal groaned and rutted against his hip, then grabbed onto the meat of his ass with a needy, tight squeeze.

Withdrawing his thumb, Hannibal asked with rough tenderness, “You’ve done this before?”

Jesus, what a question for a guy in his mid-thirties. Will felt his whole face go from pink to beet red. 

“I mean, yeah, with a few women, I’ve gone all the way,” God, this was great, he sounded like a sixteen year old in the backseat of a station wagon in the Dairy Queen parking lot trying to get lucky by bragging about his illustrious previous encounters. _’All the way,’_ what even, fucking…

“And with men?” Hannibal asked softly. He kissed Will’s forehead, his cheeks, his stubbled chin, slowly continuing to drag his engorged cock against Will’s hip and thigh.

It was hard to stay nervous and self-conscious when Hannibal was so absorbed in pleasing him, so nearly unhinged with his own desire. 

“Just a couple of hand-jobs, one blow job. College, then a few ill-fated dates later on, it, um...I didn’t get much out of it, I was more the giver than the receiver if you know what I--”

“I do,” Hannibal scowled, going still for long enough to let Will see his eyes had turned smoldery-dark. 

“You hate them, don’t you?” Will traced over Hannibal’s lovely cheekbones as the other man inclined his head, somehow deadliest in his slightest microexpressions. “You want to kill them.”

“How dare they look at you, touch you, take pleasure from you without giving you the same, without treating you as you deserve?” Hannibal looked on the verge of actually losing his temper, which would be a mood-killer indeed, and Will was damn hard-pressed to keep his own mind on track long enough to defuse the near-outburst of rage. 

After all, the thought of Hannibal wanting to murder someone simply for looking at Will desirously was so inappropriately, sinfully arousing he was getting hard again.

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m here with you now.” Will kissed the inside of Hannibal’s palm. “I want you, and for you to show me exactly how you feel. Don’t hold back from me just because I haven’t done certain things before. I trust you.”

Hannibal melted into a smile that was equal parts sweet and terrifying, and therefore to Will, deeply sexy. Those lusciously curving lips and cute fangs were going to be his undoing. 

“My precious baby.” He kissed his way back down Will’s chest and belly, then reached over to get a bottle of lube from the nearby drawer. “Do you keep some of this in your own bedside table at home?”

“Yes,” Will confessed, lying there exposed and delighted with his knees bent and open, legs loose and body pliant. 

“You enjoy penetrating yourself? Every now and then, only, perhaps...as a treat.” With this incisive guess, Hannibal squeezed a plentiful amount of lube onto his hand and spread it over Will’s hole, starting to tease again with his big fingers circling the puckered entrance. “Perhaps you watch some pornography to excite yourself first.”

Will bit his lip and nodded, his heart racing, his dick again throbbing, laying heavy against his stomach.

“Are you excited now, baby?” Hannibal sat up on his knees, pressing Will’s bent legs back and slipping a finger inside to the second knuckle with an easy glide.

“So much, yes,” Will panted out, “Please, please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“I hope you know what you do to me, Will,” Hannibal said with a heavy breath, his hair hanging in his face, partially obscuring his heady, consuming gaze. Yet from the rumbling emotion in his voice to the need making his strong body tremble, everything about the man’s demeanor spoke volumes to Will. 

Will held his legs up high as the other man lined himself up and began to carefully press inside him, both of them already deeply flushed and sweating.

The blunt head of Hannibal's cock breached Will’s tight opening as they went on kissing, swallowing each other’s heated, almost frantic moans, and then he slid deeper, stopping to give Will time to adjust to the sudden feeling of fullness. 

“Yes,” Will gritted out, hands deep in Hannibal’s hair, lips swollen from too many kisses he needed so many more of, “Give me all of you, Hannibal, now.”

Hannibal growled and wrapped a hand around Will’s throat, thrusting his entire length into the slick channel of Will’s body, then fucking him in long, deep, relentless strokes. In a dizzying shift of gravity, Will found that the more he whimpered and whined for deeper and harder, Hannibal would spank him and change the position to one that allowed for even more ruthless depth, more presses to his prostate that left him a shaking, delirious wreck. His legs were suddenly over Hannibal’s shoulders again, and he belatedly realized it was his own fault, that he had teased the older man by lifting his quivering ankle up to touch his shoulder. Now Hannibal held his legs tight together, caging his own neck with Will’s calves as he rutted with ragged groans.

Inside him, Hannibal’s uncut length was so girthy, hard and perfect Will had no idea how he was processing anything beyond blissed out disbelief. But along with every moment of Hannibal fucking him just right in every way he never knew how much he needed, there were his lover’s lust-blown brown eyes and the sublime predatory force of his gorgeous body, hips pivoting back and in, guttural words of praise falling from his lips. Will didn’t think he ever wanted this to end; common sense was a million miles away along with his usually iron-clad shyness and modesty.

Hannibal had him next on his hands and knees, first messily rimming Will again until the younger man pulled at the sheets and begged to be fucked in a voice he could only distantly recognize as his own, but somehow it was much more his own than the dull, monotonous, resigned-to-sadness tone he used to hear from himself daily.

With a harder spanking than he had received yet that day, Hannibal rewarded Will’s nearly drooling request, pinning both hands behind his back in a powerful grip, then driving back inside Will’s tight walls to the hilt and pounding him in a breathtaking manner. Will couldn’t recover from one merciless nudge to his prostate before the next thrust had him mewling, backing his ass into Hannibal, already desperately needy for yet more. 

Hannibal let go of his wrists and gave his hair a sharp pull. Then with expert care, despite the fast approach of his own release, he reached down to stroke Will's weeping cock until Will had a bone-melting orgasm made all the more unbearably sweet by Hannibal’s exploding almost at the same time, flooding him with seed. The older man’s hips shuddered hard against Will as he let out a heady sigh. 

“ _Will,_ ” Hannibal gasped, riding out his pleasure with loud slaps of skin to skin, musky heat filling the air from the outpouring of sticky cum all over the bed and deep inside Will. He gripped Will's hip hard as if the pressure helped ease his regret while he pulled slowly out of his body with a small, lost-sounding moan.

“Huh…” Will sputtered, lying flat on the bed with his whole body heavy, buzzing with continuous, slowly dwindling twitches of pleasure. “God...I never…”

“What..is it, my darling one?” Hannibal smiled, utterly breathless and panting between words. He flopped down beside Will, all trace of his usual decorousness gone as he reached over to pull the younger man into a clumsy, wonderful hug.

“Never knew it could be...like that,” Will said, thinking these words did so little to profess the overpowering sensations racking him, body and soul. 

“To be honest with you, Will, neither did I.” Hannibal looked at him so openly that Will knew it was absolutely true, as hard as it would otherwise be to believe it. 

After all, Hannibal had been a bit of a playboy in his way, had certainly dabbled in far more sexual escapades than Will. And Will hadn’t thought he was experienced enough to compare with his more sophisticated lovers, skill-wise. Now he saw how wrong this assumption had been...he felt it fall away, replaced by a new rush of something that felt very much like their joining had...like completion.

***

In the early evening, they made several jokes about settling down for dinner before stripping each other naked and fucking like wild animals out on the upper deck’s lounge area, Will pressed flat on his back to the padded deck with his feet almost up over his head.

Then Hannibal lifted Will like he weighed nothing at all and laid him out like the most succulent meal upon the dining table nearby. Without hesitation, he sank back inside him to the hilt, one hand tight around Will’s lifted, happily spread thigh and the other pressing deep into his mouth, fingers delving in and out in time with his thrusts. Will fellated his fingers with delighted fervor, a considerable feat since every slick thrust from Hannibal still felt as earth-shaking as the first.

After taking his wet fingers from the dripping, messy embrace of Will’s mouth, Hannibal pressed one deep into Will along with his cock, and Will gave a broken cry as his pleasure ratcheted again to a shattering crescendo. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, oh my God--” He trembled as Hannibal dropped to his knees to lap up his cum, smoothing his big hands over Will’s stomach in a possessive gesture that made another small shockwave of heated joy jolt through him. 

“I think you should ride me,” said Hannibal with a wicked smirk.

Will was still splayed out on the table, breathing hard, arms and legs haphazardly flung over the surface, and his first response to this request was to laugh. Was there no end to this man’s lust or stamina? Next came the practical consideration of following through on Hannibal’s suggestion.

_Oh…_

It wouldn’t have mattered if Will blushed because his face was already red, eyes perpetually tear-glazed, mouth swollen and skin glistening with sweat. None of these were what he previously would have called symptoms of bliss, but here he was, on the highest cloud, prey to Hannibal’s every naughty whim.

“I don’t know how,” Will deferred, going shy again and breaking eye contact.

“Look at me, Will,” Hannibal commanded, stepping back a few paces and roving his hand over his bulging cock, still slick with lube and precum. Nothing had ever looked so goddamned erotic to Will as Hannibal standing there hard and ready for him, on a boat in the middle of the open sea, sunset glow highlighting his muscular physique and emphasizing the daring, almost public way they were fucking.

 _Point taken,_ Will conceded, smiling with a mischief to equal Hannibal’s sinful gaze. “Go lie down over there,” he responded.

Holding his own softened, but still quite sensitive and alert, cock in one hand, Will braced himself against the deck as he lowered himself carefully onto Hannibal’s enormous-feeling erection with a hectic moan. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasped, unworried now about technique since he couldn’t seem to help himself from automatically riding up and down in time with the rhythm Hannibal helped set with his strong hands on Will’s hips. It felt like they were made to fit and move together; it felt like having a soulmate. How could be be afraid of anything they had a chance to share together?

Before Will knew it he was fucking himself onto Hannibal almost easily, kneeling with his palms pressed to Hannibal’s chest, fingers tangled in the thatch of silvery hair there, staring with amazement into those wild, dark eyes that brought out the hidden secrets of his heart until Will started to accept them, even accept himself. He felt loved and alive and amazing, so that when Hannibal gasped and burst inside him, pride filled his heart and his elated smile.

***

When it was no longer possible to make love, they paid no heed to their bodies’ limitations, instead spending the in-between time groping, massaging, licking and biting one another, lost in a daze. Now they were tangled up together in bed at 3am, still staring and finding new sensitive spots all over each other. Then Will's belly emitted a loud, pleading growl.

“Oh,” Will giggled with his lips against Hannibal’s throat, where he had been lazily kissing for God knows how long as Hannibal traced his hip. “I think I’m starving.”

Hannibal groaned for reasons other than lust for the first time in hours. He patted his own empty stomach and admitted, “We never did eat dinner, it only now occurs to me. I can go to the kitchen and make us something--”

“Nooo,” Will fussed, pouting and mouthing along Hannibal’s collarbone, clutching at him to try and make him stay. “I can wait a little longer…”

“I can’t have you skipping meals on my account,” Hannibal reprimanded him, just on the right side of stern to get Will more hot and bothered until he was just about ready to forget his stomach again.

Will trailed Hannibal to the kitchen, both of them clad only in bathrobes belonging to Hannibal, velvety maroon and blue, warmer and more sensible than Will’s satin collection. “Can I help you _make it_?” Will asked with a sly smile.

“No one else has ever come close to evoking this sentiment from me, Will, but you are going to wear me out.” 

“I hope so,” Will grinned. He came up behind Hannibal, who was picking through the refrigerator with his usual discerning intent, probably coming up with some delectable recipe spur of the moment. For that, Will thought he deserved a swift spank to his ass, which caused Hannibal to look back at him sternly again. _Worth it_.

“Will Graham,” Hannibal chided. He lifted him bodily and sat him on the counter. “You’ll go hungry forever at this rate. Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” Will answered cheekily, thinking on a much more serious note, _I would have felt hungry forever, never really knowing what I wanted, if we never met._

Perhaps the sentiment in his heart shone in his eyes just then, because Hannibal’s amusedly disapproving smirk faded into a sweeter smile. He caressed Will’s face and said softly, “ _I_ will take care of the food, if _you_ \--” Here he bopped Will’s nose -- “would pick out what you would like to drink.”

Will found a fifteen years-aged bottle of single-malt whiskey in the impressive liquor cabinet and poured them each two fingers. They ate above deck, lounging on big pillows as Will did his best not to actually gobble the grilled cheese sandwich on his plate. It was a hearty one, complete with bacon, avocado, tomato, caramelized onions and spring greens, with a finishing touch of balsamic vinegar. Of course Hannibal elevated the most basic thing in the world, a grilled cheese, to gourmet cuisine.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Will praised between large bites that made Hannibal smile in approval.

“It has everything you need to replenish your sorely exhausted energies,” he answered between much more polite bites of his own sandwich. 

Will thought mischievously that Hannibal didn't bite _him_ politely at all, not anymore. And he was feeling pretty smug about the way Hannibal continuously spoiled him, even letting his heathen-level table manners of the moment slide by without reprimand...not that he minded the occasional reprimand of course...goddamn, everything was so blissfully distracting right now.

“You’re right, I _am_ a little sore,” Will mused, rubbing his bottom through the robe. 

“Oh? I hope not too much,” said Hannibal with the most transparently disingenuous concern.

Will leaned forward and stole a sweet potato wedge off his plate. “Liar, you love it. Leaving your marks on me, using me up. I love it, too.”

“I’m lucky then,” said Hannibal, transfixed again by the sight of a relaxed, joyful Will in the moonlight as the boat rocked gently, as time seemed again suspended. They could almost believe they had the power to stop time and do what they wanted with it, if they let themselves.

“The luckiest man in the world,” Hannibal added, and Will moved closer to put his head on his lover’s shoulder, finishing his drink with a contented sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grilled cheese recipe: https://www.modernhoney.com/grown-up-grilled-cheese-sandwich/ 😁


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Hannibal recounts Mischa’s death in this chapter with references to child murder and cannibalism as mentioned in the tags.

“I like watching you drive the boat,” Hannibal remarked late the following morning as Will steered them towards the next, and regrettably the final island on their tour. After today’s beach jaunt, it would be back to the mainland and reality. 

“Hmm,” Will smiled as Hannibal dropped a kiss in the crook of his neck and shoulder, “I’d like to take you sailing someday.”

“I’d like that as well.” Hannibal stepped away then as his face fell slightly.

Will waited until they were on the beach, until his sandy leg was loosely crossed over Hannibal’s as they relaxed on their blanket. Then he said carefully, thoughtfully, “You’re awfully pessimistic sometimes. Defeatist, even.”

Hannibal shrugged. He didn’t ask to what in particular Will alluded because he already knew. “In a few days time, we may be forever parted. You said yourself that you don’t know how you will feel about me once we are separated for a while. Perhaps you’ll wake up one day to realize you never loved me at all.”

“Hannibal”-- Will looked at him, heart breaking for Hannibal’s heart, a lump growing in his throat.

“No, Will, truly it’s fine. I’m only making some attempt, however feeble, to fortify myself against what may occur in the future. I understand you feel as if it’s far more likely you’d wish to return to me, and I’m not so pessimistic as to dismiss the possibility.”

“You just don’t want to put all your hopes into it,” Will observed, wishing to God he could offer more assurance. 

“I’ve learned the hard way that happiness doesn’t last.” Hannibal slipped his leg out from under Will’s and walked down to the water. Will gave him some space for a while, thinking it all over to himself as Hannibal took a swim.

He didn’t bring it up again until bedtime, only because he could not smother the questions anymore. He had tried all afternoon and evening, had fought to still his tongue in case asking this pushed Hannibal away somehow. 

“Chiyoh said something to me the night of the ball,” he began, snuggling up to Hannibal’s chest as the other man held him close, breathing evenly. “She suggested I ask you about something...someone.”

“About Mischa?” Will looked up to find Hannibal’s face unsurprised, but his heart was beating harder under Will’s palm.

“Yes, but...I’m sorry, really we don’t need to talk about it if you’d rather not. It’s only that you’re so sad sometimes, and I wish I could help you with that.”

“It’s alright, Will, I understand.” Hannibal took a deep breath, his fingers momentarily pausing in their ritualistic caress through Will’s curls. “I have not spoken of the events surrounding my sister’s death since the immediate aftermath, and even then...I said only what I had to in order to explain to my Uncle, and to the authorities, what had occurred. Discussing it at any further length has always been something I have avoided nearly upon pain of death.”

Will nodded. He knew Hannibal was aware he could say anything, or not say anything, and Will would understand. There was no room anymore for judgement between them.

“My country was torn apart by war at the time,” Hannibal recalled, his voice starting out the story sounding sturdy and strong, even resolute to remain so. “Enemy soldiers were bad enough, forever wrecking our village and looting like gnawing termites, but soon enough our own troops began doing the same. Everyone for many miles was starving; it was a horrifically cold winter, and the resources had already been nearly depleted by all of this theft and gluttony. Finally, a group of men came upon our estate, half-mad with hunger, depraved and twisted by the horrors of war. They killed my parents with the intention of stealing whatever scant food, water, jewels and other currency remained on the grounds.”

“I’m sorry,” Will sighed. “I know you were just a little boy.”

“I am not sure I ever had the chance to term myself that. Even before my eighth birthday, which immediately preceded the attack, I had long been left to care for my sister; my parents were involved with the war efforts and had little time to look after us. They were trying to save Lithuania, and in the process they made a small father out of me. I was used to protecting Mischa, and I thought I could continue to do so, I thought it would all be…”

Hannibal let out a strained choking sound and Will massaged his arm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I thought I could get us to safety, but I was young and foolish and I hid us in a place that would be entirely obvious to any adult, even a madman. They found us and...when they saw Mischa they began talking about how hungry they were, only they did not sound upset about it anymore; they sounded greatly excited and even relieved.”

“Hannibal.” Will looked up at him again with tears streaming down his face, but Hannibal was still just barely holding himself together.

“I ate her, too,” Hannibal sobbed, finally, coming apart at the seams, lost in long-repressed, gut-wrenching grief. “I thought it would help me come to terms with her death, if I had a part of her to keep with me always, if I could make her somehow a part of me as she was when she lived. And since then, I--”

Will sat up to rock Hannibal in his arms, murmuring soothing words as the older man cried and cried, body-shaking sobs until he was completely worn out and collapsed against Will like a life raft coming up on shore. 

“It’s okay,” Will repeated because it wasn’t okay but he didn’t know what else to say, and he knew it didn’t matter. “I’m here, I’ll take care of you now.”

Hannibal didn’t speak again, just fell into a deep sleep with his face pressed to Will’s chest, arms clamped vice-tight around him for dear life.

***

“I can’t leave you now,” Will said the next day, when they were docked on the mainland. He halted Hannibal as the other man carried two suitcases across the upper deck. “How can I leave you if you need me?”

Hannibal, who looked drained but resolved, set the luggage down and cupped Will’s face in both hands. “Because you must. Since Paris, you have trusted me with your well-being. Trust me now when I tell you to go home, take the time you need to assess your feelings. I may travel the world in the interim, but when it comes to you, I’m not going anywhere, Will.”

“Can we still talk? How will I know you’re okay, when you go and speak with your Aunt…” Will chewed his lip nervously and Hannibal took the burner phone from his lover’s pocket, making a few quick adjustments.

“There’s a number here, from which I will send you a text message after seeing my Aunt, to confirm I am safe and she has no plans to pursue either of us in vengeance for Robertus’ demise. And you may also use this number to contact me in case of absolute emergency-- _only_ for emergencies,” he continued with a sternly loving smile when Will frowned and started to say, “But--”

“You said you need time away from me to understand how you feel.” Hannibal leaned down slightly to press a kiss to Will’s mouth, then he laid his forehead against Will’s, speaking with that calmly firm authority which usually put the younger man at ease. What a gift, to have the ability to infuse comfort to the soul of someone you loved dearly. “If we’re in touch during our separation, you will still be tethered to me, and then how can you truly reach any conclusion about us?”

“You’re right,” Will nodded, “But if you ever need me, you call and I’ll come to you, wherever you are. Promise me.” He tugged on Hannibal’s shirtfront, his own version of stubborn insistence which was equally inarguable to Hannibal’s most definitive commands.

“I promise you, mylimasis.” But Hannibal knew he would never reach out to Will in his time of need, would never interrupt his lover’s well-deserved respite from his influence. Whatever danger he faced now, he faced it alone.

***

**One Week Later**

Hannibal stood before the gates of Lecter Castle nearly quaking at the sight, the tall fortress looming majestically in gothic beauty. The elegant, dark towers seemed to cut even into the clouds at their loftiest spire, casting long, dominating shadows over the large estate, power and influence spreading well into the village beyond.

For decades, Murasaki had been the brilliant intellectual speculator behind the entire criminal enterprise which had restored the family’s wealth and station after the horrors of the war and their great losses, both personal and financial. Robertus had made a highly effective figurehead for the operation, with Hannibal the overworked, seldom appreciated henchman and wheeler-dealer, responsible for the dirty work. How ironic, he pondered, that Robertus always treated him as though his grisly proclivities to enact brutal justice on their enemies was a matter of shame, when these were necessary acts which neither his Uncle nor his Aunt would have touched personally. The dirt, grime and blood of life were good enough for Hannibal, as long as he never dragged any of it home to leave a stain on their flawless rug.

All these gloomy reminiscences and more swirled like stormclouds through his mind as he laid a trembling hand on the gate. The mere sight of this place carried hundreds of memories of playing with Mischa in the gardens, intercut with images of his parent’s corpses, wretchedly slaughtered until they were nearly unrecognizable, and of running through the same garden once a sight for childhood happiness, fleeing away to Mischa’s own death and Hannibal’s monstrous Becoming.

He had vowed never to set foot on these grounds again, with the same breath he once used to assure himself he would never fully love another, and it seemed appropriate now he should break his vow to honor another, one which had become the foremost drive of his very existence. He would protect Will, he would do everything to preserve their chances of a safe and blissful life together, no matter what it took. For Will, he would look into the darkest corners of his past, confront his demons and tame his fears.

Making a quick path through the garden, he noticed how it had been restored to its former lushness in the years since his departure. It was like walking through a dream of his own idyllic early childhood, with ghosts brushing past him at every step. This was not a place to linger, as it cost nearly all his bravery to trespass here, where he had lost everything, where he had failed his sister. Yet pausing by a rose-clustered trellis, he remembered how Mischa used to climb it all the way up to the nursery window and pop inside quick as you like, rushing up like a spider monkey with her deft little feet and clever hands, that innocent giggle. He could hear Will’s gentle voice reverberating through his ears, telling him Mischa’s death had not been his fault, that he should forgive himself.

Hannibal reached out to cup a rose, stroking its dewy petals as he reflected that while he might never forgive himself, he could accept Will’s forgiveness and begin, finally, to make some peace with the past. 

“You should not have come,” Chiyoh fretted, unusually flustered as she came nearly running out to him, clutching his arm with a pained expression. “The Lady is still in mourning. She hasn’t even called for me since the news arrived of Robertus’ death.”

“I feel I owe you my apologies as much as I need to convey them to my Aunt,” Hannibal answered, gathering up all of his resolve to form a confident expression. He took Chiyoh’s hand with a kind, brotherly attitude as he added, “Robertus was your guardian as well as mine. I assure you, I never raised a hand to him until I had no other choice. He would have stopped at nothing to murder Will.”

“Will is an innocent in all of this,” Chiyoh concluded. “While I mourn my guardian, I do not mourn the absence of his imperious behavior. What meager time he spent with me over the last decade has always been marred by his manipulation and hurtful comments intended to control me. I felt such gratitude for his support that I never dared defy him, yet I fear this stunted my own emotional growth, that his influence was an impediment to my ever fully flourishing. I have had much time to think of these things since we heard the news, and the realizations followed quickly on the heels of initial grief.”

“Family is never simple. And as such, Chiyoh, you know I must go to Murasaki. Whether she wishes it or not, this must come to pass and reach a resolution, or we will all be trapped in limbo, just as Robertus would have liked us to remain forever. Now he is gone, we can no longer be his pawns.”

Chiyoh nodded with a shaky exhale. “Come with me.”

***

Murasaki was taking afternoon tea in her personal study, a luxurious space done up in shades of dusty blue and silver. Her high-backed Victorian chair resembled a throne, and not by any coincidence. With one delicate hand she slowly turned a shining teaspoon in her china cup, taking in the would-be shocking fact of Hannibal’s sudden presence without so much as a gasp.

She was closer in age to Hannibal than to Robertus, a fact that had once bonded them. With her endlessly clever, shining brown eyes and magnificent mane of lustrous raven hair, she had seemed an angel gracing his life. Hannibal had been a lonely, bored teenager when Robertus had first brought Murasaki home after their wedding, which had been the first and last impetuous act of his Uncle’s life. If one was going to be impetuous, a woman like this was a highly sufficient inspiration: beautiful, proud, ingenious and ruthlessly charming. 

Their bond had faded quickly into the ether of his new adult life. Soon after an ill-advised encounter one sultry night when they were left alone in the house, Hannibal celebrated his nineteenth birthday with the firm resolve to leave this place forever. His tryst with his Aunt had not brought him the intimacy he had hoped for, but merely seemed to confirm his belief that attempts to connect with others emotionally were a waste of his energy. He felt empty, and longed to roam the world distracting himself, possibly forever, from all the churning, impossibly deep longing and sadness in his heart.

“You show great gumption in coming here, Hannibal.” Murasaki regarded him with a cool, unreadable smile that might be loving or deadly or both. 

“I had hoped, dear Aunt, that you might consider my arrival an act of bravery. Perhaps even of integrity, given the clarity of the danger inherently contained in the decision.”

Hannibal stood before her with his hands neatly clasped in front, meaning to appear as harmless as possible -- perhaps for him that wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He had not come here to fight either in words or action, and would treat it once again as a last resort out of familial respect and gratitude. 

She laughed icily and sipped her tea, looking like a queen and a supermodel businesswoman all at once in her flawless, sleek black pantsuit.

“I’m not sure I would term a transparent stratagem ‘brave.’”

Hannibal pursed his lips. “If I appear manipulative, it is you who taught me the art.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t your Uncle,” she laughed again, softly, and poured a second cup of tea before holding it out to him.

“I came here to say I am deeply sorry for what transpired between Robertus and me.” Hannibal accepted the tea and took a sip, maintaining calm eye contact, their family code for not showing weakness.

She did not appear grieved, but then that was no surprise. An inscrutable woman, he doubted anyone but herself would learn her true feelings unless she chose to enact a rare confidence. Whatever intimacy had flared between them over that momentous summer of his becoming a man, he had long assumed it gone, swept away by her subsequent disinterest and his departure.

But there perhaps he might have misjudged, at least on her side.

“I’m loathe to admit it to you, as the entire Board and all our associates are either livid or terrified, demanding answers as to who will rule over our concerns in Robertus’ absence. However, the truth is you have done me a favor.”

Hannibal almost choked on his tea. “How so?”

“You always had the better head for business and for disposing of problems, Hannibal, but you are a wildcard, an undefinable force of nature. Robertus was of the old guard, he was trusted by virtue of age, level headedness and experience, but he was a tiresome fool who led us into plentiful bad endeavors.”

Hannibal must have been staring at her in complete astonishment because she felt inspired to elaborate, “Your uncle was nice arm candy at best and poorly behaved puppet at worst. And I can hardly be compelled to abandon my life of quiet pleasures to go out and do all the exhausting busywork. I draw the maps, Robertus gives the orders, you bring home the treasure, that was always the way of it. But he’s been defying me for years, to my never ending annoyance.”

“What do you propose to do now?” Hannibal asked, relieved and baffled in equal, immense measure.

“Well, I would certainly like to give Robertus’ job to you, my dear, but you have quite ruined that by making it so dreadfully obvious you killed him. You are Hamlet, when what we need is Fortinbras. I must punish you in the eyes of the world or we will seem weak.”

“Perish the thought,” Hannibal said dryly. “A limb, then? Or merely an exile?”

“Neither, you’ll be relieved to learn. A demotion. You may choose one or two of our businesses to run, and I’ll simply have to rely on Chiyoh to act as my liaison for the time being.”

“It will do her good,” Hannibal reasoned, “To have a chance to flourish, at last. In many ways she is the best of us.”

“I’ll let that slip by, as I’m in no temper to argue at present. I’m far too busy and pleased with a million little concerns of which you know nothing.” She took a tiny nibble from a tea biscuit and thought a bit more before explaining, “Perhaps I’m regretful of the awkwardness between us years ago, after our rather silly indiscretion.”

“I don’t believe you ever experienced a moment of awkwardness in your life, however confused I may have been.” Hannibal lifted his brows, slightly resentful, just for a moment that same, lonely young man again looking for affection and finding only a single night of it, followed by his Aunt’s decision to act as if it never happened.

“Be that as it may, I am still fond of you in my own fashion. Whether that is a type of regard you find particularly pleasant or not is of no interest to me. Are my terms acceptable?”

“They are, and I am grateful for your mercy and compassion,” Hannibal said honestly. 

“I certainly wasn’t moved to _compassion_ by the sentimental drivel of which Chiyoh has informed me, regarding your relationship with this Will Graham. The poor girl was so concerned in breaking it to me gently, that you had essentially thrown your life away to throw your _lot_ in with some dull American outsider.”

“Will Graham is many things, but he is never dull,” Hannibal corrected her.

“As you say,” she lifted her shoulders nonchalantly. “At any rate, it is neither mercy nor compassion that motivates me in this case, merely the wish to make recompense for the past. Let Chiyoh know where you would like to settle yourself, and then do your work well, you can usually be trusted for that. Do not meddle in my affairs again, and we need not quarrel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the rest of the story written and will just give it an edit; it should be up soon! 😄


	13. Chapter 13

_”For me there can never be anyone else. Only you...But words of love mean nothing. I could have screamed them at you a thousand times a day without affecting your doubts in the slightest. So I haven’t spoken my love, Justine, I’ve lived it. How could you doubt the feelings of your most faithful gallant?”_  
-Colleen McCullough, _The Thorn Birds_

Hannibal asked to reside at the Tuscany villa, with the intention of turning it into a posh bed and breakfast. In no time at all it seemed he was there, putting all his plans in motion, even adding dog resort services complete with spa, happy to know how much Will would approve of his decision. Yet as speedily as the days flew by filled with making plans and arrangements to open the business by the following month, Hannibal felt Will’s absence with every breath.

He’d sent a quick message, as promised, to let Will know he was safe and out of danger, that they both were. Against everything he himself had asked of Will, Hannibal realized he had half-expected Will to run out of patience all too quickly with their separation. Perhaps this was mainly because he had thought of almost nothing but seeing Will again since the moment he disappeared into the airport in Croatia, but Hannibal thought Will would call him.

Instead, more weeks elapsed with no contact and he had to learn a new form of discipline, against his gritted teeth at first. He didn’t send anyone to watch Will, didn’t use the internet to try and monitor his movements or even glean a single detail of what his life was like now. By the third month, Hannibal found he was able to bear Will’s absence with more grace, deciding that pessimism was only going to send him straight into the mouth of madness, and that would serve no one, least of all himself. Will forgave him every misstep; it was time to admit he deserved to live well, with or without his beloved. In fact, rather than trying to manipulate circumstances to pull Will back into his arms, Hannibal decided to live his life in tribute to the love that had revitalized him.

He took an active role in caring for the dogs brought by the bed and breakfast guests, finding that once he got past the drool, fur and sometimes off-putting smell involved with the work, the animals’ endearing antics and freely given affection made up for any inconveniences to his impeccably neat personal aesthetic. With the guests, he quickly became known as a benevolent and thoughtful host, always ready to accommodate special recipe requests at the elite dinner parties he provided as part of the villa experience. The experience was always a thoroughly lovely one, with the exception of the occasional guests who proved to be rude, and might disappear under mysterious circumstances soon after checking in.

Aside from these rare incidents of maintaining order, Hannibal thrived. He added to his responsibilities, organizing tours of the Tuscan countryside, teaching wine-making classes, and changing the decor of the guests’ rooms with the seasons as summer shifted to fall. 

“Should I make the same alterations to Master Will’s room as well?” Olga chirped with her usual good nature on one September morning.

His one-time nanny had remained his most devoted servant since he was a child, but only the two of them knew the fate which had happily befallen her abusive husband fifteen years earlier. After that incident, Olga had stayed on out of pure loyalty and gratitude, never flinching at the clear implications of Hannibal’s violent activities which would occasionally surface around the villa. She associated Hannibal’s beastly side with her own salvation, and Hannibal always made sure she had the best of everything in life. 

“Certainly,” Hannibal smiled, helping her carry in the autumn orange sheets and duvet. 

As Olga made the bed and Hannibal took down the summer curtains, he thought of many things. This had been Will’s very own space for such a short time, but one of the most important times of Hannibal’s life. He still felt his beloved’s aura floating in the air along with the echos of their conversations and fleeting physical encounters, teasing and angry, then delicately tender, so tentative, their feelings nearly afraid of themselves. That made him keep smiling even as his heart continued breaking under the influence of Will’s absence.

“I’m sure he’ll come back one day soon,” Olga said kindly, smoothing out the pillowcases, then fluffing the cushions to perfect effect. 

“Whether or not he does, Olga, we’ll keep his room ready.” 

_As my heart is ready, always._

It had begun not to matter if it took weeks, months, years, or if the answer was never. To Hannibal, it was akin to wondering whether God or the afterlife existed. He was naturally inclined to believe they did, even if God seemed crueler than Hannibal ever was, on his worst day. But the truth was, he would never know the answer until he died, and until then he could only seek salvation by his own terms, by the form of morality he had forged through years of trauma and evolution and Becoming. He could not compromise, he had always known this, as to who he was at core. Will had helped him to see there was so much more inside him than blood and death and selfishness; always there had been the capacity to love so greatly. It colored everything for him now, that love, memories of Will keeping him alive like the sweetest anesthetic. If Will was not to return, Hannibal simply didn’t want to know; he didn’t need to. He was going to live, in any case, and in a way that would make Will proud. He felt fully good about who he was for the first time, even in the harshest deprivation he had ever forced upon himself.

“Olga, just a moment,” he said suddenly, slightly surprising himself. She hesitated by the open door, still carrying the summer-red duvet. “Let me take that.” He took the bedding into his own arms, relieving her of its weight, and said gently, “You’re family to me, Olga. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, and I hope you know it.”

“Thank you, Master Hannibal,” she said with her usual neat curtsey but a large grin on her pretty face. 

She looked just as he remembered when he was a child, save a few lines on her face and strands of grey in her hair. In those days, after his family’s death, he had never appreciated his nanny’s affection and care, but now he knew it had seen him through many struggles without his acknowledging it to this moment. His habit had always been to lord his power over others, letting Olga know he had saved her and forever silenced her from speaking of her husband’s true manner of death to another soul. 

Instead of taking relief from the exertion of power, he was newly inclined to give of himself, open his heart and let out the cobwebs and shadows from within. It was a battered, confused instrument, that heart, but it still worked.

***

September took Will by surprise, pulling him up by the collar of his faded army green jacket when he felt the chill in the air and realized he needed his coat. 

“You coming?” Beverly asked, standing in the front doorway holding two travel cups of coffee.

Part of him wanted to make a rushed apology for flaking on their planned walk with the dogs that morning, just _go_ , hit the airport with nothing but a hurriedly thrown together suitcase of essentials, no regrets, his heart ascending with hope into the clouds. Go to Hannibal. 

Part of him knew that even now, it was too soon for him to know how he felt about Hannibal, and whether it was wise to return to those open arms. He’d been hugely relieved by the text confirming his former captor’s safety after the confrontation with Murasaki, had sat up all night composing texts of love and begging to be together again just to delete them from his phone notes. He’d pored over the precious photographs of their time together in Paris, Hannibal gazing at him with besotted caramel eyes and Will’s hat on his head. _Their_ time, their cafe, their love...he knew it was real...or did he? How long did it take to know?

He was still holding himself back, just barely, from the precipice of fully falling. Deciding that this was where he felt comfortable for today, continuing to hover at the edge, he whistled for the dogs and joined Beverly outside. 

They walked through the leaf-strewn woods, light jackets a pleasant barrier from the sweet caress of the first genuine fall crispness in the air. 

“I met someone when I was away,” Will said as they cleared the top of a hill and the dogs bolted forward, frollicking merrily. 

Maybe if he could find a way to talk about Hannibal, he would better understand the entire wild conundrum.

Beverly raised her eyebrows and noted, “I kind of thought you might have, but I didn’t want to press you about it. I know how private you are about…”

“What, personal stuff?” Will laughed congenially and Beverly giggled when he added, “Lovey-dovey stuff?”

“Yeah, Graham, you’re a closed book most of the time. So who are they?” Beverly casually drank her coffee, but her dark eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Carefully considering how much to reveal, Will watched Winston scattering leaves in his wake chasing Buster. At first, Buster had been the aggressor in that relationship, but Winston now had the confidence to give as good as he got. 

“Well, his name’s Hannibal.” Will showed Beverly the picture from the Paris cafe.

“Whew! Hello, handsome,” she said, “How did you leave this fine specimen in Europe?” 

She handed him the phone back with a smirk as Will chuckled. 

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted, the understatement of the century. He followed it up with another massively played down explanation: “It’s complicated.”

Beverly shrugged, “Isn’t it always?”

“It’s not only that he lives in Europe. He’s so rich,” Will paused by a big maple tree and rested his back against it, fiddling with the cardboard band around his Starbucks cup. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just not hearing a problem,” Beverly answered blithely. “I mean, does he have a brother?”

“No,” he chortled, “Um, family’s complicated, too, with him. Maybe I could start a new one with him, we could get rid of all the crazy junk from both our pasts and be happy. Maybe he’s too wealthy and controlling and demanding and I’d be getting myself in for a world of trouble.”

“He’s not abusive is he, with the whole ‘controlling-demanding’ thing?” Beverly’s smile faded slightly into concern.

“Um, it’s not like that,” he decided to say. 

Outside of kidnapping him and keeping him prisoner, Hannibal had not done one abusive thing to him, and since that was already apologized for and forgiven, perhaps it was best not to reveal the extent of Hannibal’s obsession to a normal person. It could only be really understood by someone equally as strange, a description Will used to apply to himself with sadness, self-frustration and regret. Maybe being with Hannibal had taught him that being strange wasn’t bad at all...it could be a hell of a lot of fun, actually. They made their own, twisted sort of heaven together, and no one else was invited to understand.

“He can just be...a lot to handle. I decided we needed a break so I could sort out my feelings.”

“Right. So I take it the long distance thing, and you potentially having to move, isn’t as much the concern.”

“I’d invite you to visit us,” Will promised, noticing how he was now obviously leaning towards reuniting with Hannibal. 

Maybe it was just a fantasy for the time being, but it felt so damn good to play in that fantasy. He could linger a little longer. Somewhere along the line, Will had gotten into the habit of stealing moments with Hannibal, justifying them one way or another. He was running out of justifications other than pure love.

“You know we’d all be happy for you...well, maybe Jack would be a little upset to lose you.”

“I’m pretty sure Jack’s still pissed off at me for disappearing to Europe the first time.” Will remembered the awkward confrontation with his sometime-supervisor at the FBI when he’d come back and dropped by his office.

_”Next time you’re feeling impulsive, could you just maybe leave me a note of some kind?”_ Jack had fumed, hands on hips. _”We had active investigations you were supposed to help us with."_

After a few minutes of fuming and Will barely apologizing, Jack had accepted his souvenir pen from the Eiffel tower gift shop with no further complaint other than an eye-roll. Jack would get over it. Alana could do Will’s job without making herself miserable; Will simply couldn’t, end of story. Even if there was no Hannibal, he knew he couldn’t be happy held in that life of stasis, the miserably dull teaching job, the upsetting FBI work.

He could give into himself and go find Hannibal, be as ruthless and wild as his lover, let it lead them where it would. Perhaps they would hunt together, on occasion, revel in it, blood-coated and running through the forest in the dead of night like the dark fairy tale they were.

Maybe Will couldn’t save himself at all, turn himself into a normal, well-adjusted citizen incapable of murder or cannibalism or any of the places Hannibal made it so lovingly easy to go. He didn’t want to be saved or fixed anymore; he had much better things to do.

“Thanks for listening,” he smiled to Beverly, “It means a lot.” 

“Anytime,” she answered lightly, no idea of the lovely, ghastly abyss over which Will was no longer hovering. He was falling in,

Falling and falling forever, and that was just fine.


	14. Chapter 14

_"Tell me what you're afraid of  
Tell what night is made of  
What can I not destroy for you  
Color the night electric  
Get in me like a secret  
I open the door and you run through  
Into me"_

-Caroline Polachek

It had seemed an ordinary-enough sort of day when Hannibal finished his morning work at the villa and set out for the dog day care center he’d made out of the disused pool house on the west end of the estate. Striding absent-mindedly through the burnt amber leaves he’d rather wistfully allowed to scatter the otherwise perfect grounds, he didn’t hear anyone creeping up behind him. He did not have the slightest idea he was being followed, in fact, until an unseen assailant grabbed him and held him tight, sinking a needle into his arm. Hannibal had just a moment to process his indignation at being caught unawares before he surrendered to the sedative.

Waking in a woozy daze, he blinked in bafflement to find that he sat in the desk chair in the middle of his bedroom, hands bound in front of him with the cable ties from his own collection of erotic implements. Who would ever _dare_ \-- perhaps more upsettingly, how had they caught him so easily?

“I’m so sorry for the rough treatment, sir,” winced Marcus, who came into the room looking mildly penitent at best. 

“Marcus, explain yourself at once,” Hannibal said crossly. “Actually, untie me and then explain yourself, and I suggest you make it very good, as I’m currently very much tempted to fire you _without_ a reference.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on Marcus,” Will said with a wicked smile as he followed the guard into the room. 

Hannibal’s jaw dropped and tears filled his eyes. As his heart thundered wildly, he gave himself into his lover’s control and stopped trying to wriggle out of his bindings.

“I think he’s speechless,” Marcus said. He looked extremely amused. “I’ll let you two talk; see you later, sir.”

“Very good, Marcus,” Will answered breezily.

When they were alone again, Hannibal asked through his tears, “Exactly how many members of my staff were included in this little plan of yours?”

“Oh, _everyone_ knew.” Will circled the room, hands hooked into the pockets of his fitted dark-wash jeans. With his flawlessly pressed navy button-down shirt and his hair slicked back, save for a few curls kissing his forehead, Will looked like absolute catnip to his former captor.

“Olga was pretty excited, it took a lot of cajoling to get her not to tell you I was coming back,” Will went on. “And I thought you might appreciate a touch of reciprocity in my methods.”

“I _think_ ,” Hannibal said throatily, “You should lock the door.”

Will did so with a smirk, then roughly urged him towards the bed. Throwing Hannibal down on his back, Will straddled his waist and planted Hannibal’s bound hands up over his head. 

“You’re _my_ prisoner now,” he breathed against Hannibal’s lips. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Please be thorough,” Hannibal whispered, and Will smiled into their kiss, lips burning together in an ecstatic culmination of all the yearning they’d both built up during their time apart. 

“Oh, honey.” Will lavished him with a devilish grin, eyes deep and dark with predatory intent. He rocked his erection firmly against Hannibal’s own, their cocks straining against their pants as Hannibal moaned. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Slowly unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt, he left it open and began teasing his upper body with soft, small kisses, sighing helplessly at the feeling of the strong, warm body he missed so much, the scent of Hannibal’s body heat and spicy cologne.

Will took his own clothes off as Hannibal drank the sight of him in like water after a million years wandering a desert.

He nuzzled his face into the sexy dusting of silvery hair along Hannibal’s chest and stomach, kissing and biting over to each nipple in turn. 

“You’re delicious,” he smiled, licking a path down to Hannibal’s hips as the older man groaned and bucked slightly beneath him.

“Hold still now,” Will ordered, unfastening his pants and sliding them down along with Hannibal’s briefs. “My goodness, so eager.” 

His arrogant, savoring attitude had Hannibal going wonderfully out of his mind, his head tipped back, lips open upon sigh after gasped-out endearment, Will’s name and “please” for the most part.

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear.” Will licked the pre-cum beading at the head of Hannibal’s cock and enjoyed feeling his lover’s knees buckling. Gently, he cupped Hannibal’s balls and gave a light squeeze. “So sensitive. Say it again.”

“Please,” Hannibal rasped out desperately, “Please, Will. I need you.”

Will’s mouth sank over Hannibal’s cock with slowly rapturous enjoyment, enveloping Hannibal in tight, exquisite heat. Pleasure immediately radiated out from every inch of Hannibal’s slickly engorged sex which was licked and sucked and prey to Will’s mischievous, indefatigable whims.

“Mmm,” Will smiled as he stroked Hannibal, the older man's rigid length well-lubricated with saliva and pre-cum. He watched in fascination as he slowly jerked Hannibal, the thick, hot flesh getting harder as the silky foreskin shifted up and down. “I missed you.”

“Show me,” Hannibal panted, and he was almost painfully hard, cock weeping and twitching for more stimulation when Will suddenly released him.

“You bet I’m going to show you.” Will’s soft lips curved sinfully as lust flashed in his gaze. “I think I should sit on your face."

“ _Please_ ,” Hannibal said again, his mouth watering. 

Will knelt over him and resumed sucking Hannibal off, reminding Hannibal how much he missed the feeling of that sweet, soft, gorgeous mouth doing bad things to him, turning him inside out. He moaned against Will’s sculpted ass as he licked between the cheeks, then focused on the pretty, puckered entrance he’d missed just as much. Although he didn’t have the use of his hands to hold Will’s cheeks apart and rim him deeply, he could still give plenty of generous, wet attention, swirling his tongue and lapping while the squeeze of Will’s mouth around his cock made his breathing occasionally sputter.

When Will swallowed him down, Hannibal gave a feral grunt of euphoria, his fingers aching for freedom to spank his naughty lover. This was a desire which persisted in spite of good or bad behavior, which he knew was Will’s preference, but this time, there was something exactly right about his own submissive presence in the encounter, being open to Will taking him however he liked.

Will made Hannibal watch as he prepared himself more, procuring the lube and stroking two fingers inside his now relaxed body. The younger man bit his lip as shivers of pleasure rocked him, mostly anticipation of what would come next. With every rock of his digits inside himself, he kept his eyes on Hannibal’s, save for a few quick, desirous glances at his lover’s heavily aroused cock.

When he sank down on Hannibal’s dick, they both moaned loudly, and Will thought distantly that if the staff was overhearing any of this reunion, it couldn’t come as much of a surprise. Will set the pace, face flushed and ecstatic, riding Hannibal first with long, deep, slow strokes until his patience snapped when his lover let out a broken cry. He moved faster, harder, gasping as he took Hannibal in so fucking deep and good, nothing had ever been better. 

“I’m so happy,” he laughed, crying a little as well. Between ragged breaths, Hannibal nodded, grinning back up at him, hands suspended overhead, his entire being rapturously offered to Will for the taking forever. He guided Hannibal into a sitting position so that they could kiss, tongues tangling, tears intermingling as he kept the rhythm between them firm and faster, driving them both to their breaking point.

“Aš tave myliu, Will,” Hannibal sighed moments before he climaxed, shuddering up into Will as his lover pinched his nipples and went on riding him, pushing Hannibal over the edge into the same rhapsody they could share now, always. 

Will stroked himself off to a quick release, crying out Hannibal’s name. Still trembling all over from the force of his orgasm, the overpowering wave of pleasure, he fed his cum to Hannibal, who licked it off his fingers with more small, longing moans of pleasure that sounded for all the world like pangs.

“I’m never going anywhere again, unless you are,” he vowed, wanting to end any suspense in the matter which might still be lingering in Hannibal’s mind.

“I’m terribly glad to hear it, my darling,” Hannibal answered, big, tender brown eyes fixated on Will’s pink cheeks and blissed-out blue eyes. 

With a sigh, Will disconnected them, mainly for the purpose of severing Hannibal’s restraints. They hugged each other tight, tangling in the sheets, as Will said merrily, “By the way, I absolutely love what you’ve done with the place.”

“I was hoping you would.” Hannibal kissed his forehead as Will snuggled against his shoulder. “Since you’ve been sneaking about my grounds, have you taken time to admire the dog care facility?”

“Um, where do you think I left _my_ dogs when I came in here to deal with you?” Will looked up at Hannibal, enjoying the momentary expression of confusion on his face.

“You mean you’ve brought them all…”

“Yes, all seven, including the three I had with me the day you first saw me on the beach. They are all excited to meet you, and I can’t wait to hear if you still want me, knowing I’m dragging even more complications into your life.” Will waggled his eyebrows and Hannibal tickled his stomach, then pinned him to the mattress.

“Marry me,” Hannibal said between heated kisses, and Will wound his fingers possessively through his lover’s soft hair, humming in contentment.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much to everyone for reading, giving kudos and commenting! 🥰


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